


I See The Stars In Your Eyes

by AidansQueen



Series: Blood of Winter, Blood of Dragons [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aegon is a human lie detector, Alot of Westerosi Folklore, Alternate Universe, Braavos, Casterly Rock, Cersei Lannister goes a little crazy, Character Growth, Dorne in the Past, Epic Adventures, F/F, F/M, Far to many Targaryen sigils to be tasteful, Highgarden, Highgarden is beautiful, It's raining Targaryens, Multi, Oberyn is a flirt, Orys Baratheon points out the obvious alot, Queen Sansa, Sansa is aged up, Sansa/Margarey mentioned, Summerhall, The Children Of The Forest, The Life and Times of Sansa Stark, The Sand Snakes have some fun, The Tyrells are always plotting even in the past, This is not a one-shot anymore, Time Travel, Visenya is snarky and rude occasionally, White Walkers, Winterfell In The Past, serious angst in later chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 19:22:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 117
Words: 359,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3180239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AidansQueen/pseuds/AidansQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She feared that she was just like her aunt, a wreath of winter roses bestowed upon her at a tourney.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. BOOK 1: The Eternal Summer

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game Of Thrones.

She was eighteen when she first saw him. Dark curls and smoke colored eyes, his skin the color of bronzed sand. He was taller than her but not by much, the perfect height for her really. They never spoke but her eyes remained riveted upon his beautiful face for just a little _too_ long, at least long enough for Tyrion to notice. She and Tyrion had a rule about their marriage. He and Sansa were good friends but they were not interested in being lovers, though they had to put on that façade each day. Sansa permitted him to do as he please in the sighing houses, and he in turn looked the other way if Sansa liked to stare a little too long at a particular man. This time however, Tyrion felt he needed to interfere, as this was the Prince of Dorne she was staring at and not just a day to day citizen within the walls of Kings Landing. When they returned to their private apartments he made to comment on it gently, but it has become clear Sansa wasn't quite understanding.

“My dear,” Tyrion says quietly as he gazes upon her lovely face, “you looked as if you wanted to climb over the feasting table and ride him like he was a prized sand steed.”

“Sweet seven,” Sansa tsks with a tiny frown curving her lips downwards as she turns to face her husband, “such language.”

“Well what on earth do you expect me to say?” He sighs as he pours himself a glass of wine, “ _Darling can you please get off the table, your elbow is in the roasted boar and I don’t think he cares for women who smell like that_?”

“My elbow wasn’t in the roasted boar,” Sansa rolls her eyes.

“No, because I saved it,” Tyrion reminds her, “from you knocking it off the table in your rush to get a better look at the Dornish Prince. Might I remind you that as I am aware at your age….you are….starting to notice your surroundings. However Sansa you must remain…intact…if we are ever to get out of our current predicament without fleeing the capital for Essos.”

Tyrion had mentioned once they could annul their marriage in Essos regardless of whether she was still a maiden or not, but that meant they couldn’t return to Westeros without both being dishonored.

“I’m aware of that Tyrion,” Sansa sighs while flushing pink from his blunt words. She’d be nineteen soon, nearly a woman. Over time she did start to notice men, but the Dornish Prince was the only one who’d ever really held her attention.

“Sansa, may I remind you also that you are but eight and ten and he is three and forty? He’s older than even _me_ ; mind you…I would not forbid you from gazing upon him but be discreet and keep your hands to yourself. I am pleased for you that you’ve discovered your type, but he should not be your _first_ type if you know what I mean. He is an experienced man and you are a maiden…to put it lightly Sansa…. _he would eat you alive_.”

“Well that isn’t a double meaning at all,” Shae comments as she enters the bed chambers, turning down the sheets for Tyrion and Sansa.

“I didn’t mean it as a _double meaning_ ,” Tyrion groans a little, rubbing his tired eyes.

“You are speaking of the Dornish Prince aren’t you?” Shae smiles at little as she looks at Sansa, “He is very handsome.”

Shae is Tyrion’s lover; Sansa knows this and doesn’t object to it. Sometimes she worries that Shae isn’t all who she claims to be, and Sansa worries that one day she will hurt Tyrion. Tyrion loves Shae, its plain to see…and sometimes love blinds one to many things.

“Yes…but apparently completely off limits.” Sansa sighs lightly.

“ _Completely_ ,” Tyrion agrees, “it would be political madness to attempt such an affair.”

* * *

 

 

               Political madness or no, it was still nice to look at him from a distance. Until one day that distance was crossed, not by her but him.  She sits in the godswood, her auburn hair let loose in ringlets down her back, braids twisted in her hair in traditional northern fashion. She would be the queen in the north technically now that Robb is dead, and secretly Sansa wears her hair in such a fashion as a silent political demonstration of power. It was her way of saying that she was queen in the north, she was of the north and no matter how many layers of Lannister red and gold they would force her to wear she would _always_ be a Stark.

“You pray here often, no?” his voice is deep and melodic and she just soaks it in at first, hears the song of the birds in the trees and his beautiful voice filling the air around her. When she says nothing he continues, “I wonder what it is you pray for?”

“I come here for the peace of this place,” Sansa says softly, “There is no place like it in Kings Landing.”

“I would pray if it would help,” he muses lightly as he gazes up at the old pale tree, “for justice.”

_So that’s why he was here._

               Sansa smothered the disappointment blooming in her heart and stared up at the tree, she braced herself for his curiosity, he displayed it with all the Lannisters, making comments and remarks about the past that she had nothing to do with.

“I pray for justice,” Sansa says and is surprised it even comes out of her mouth. She would never say anything so bold in front of anyone in Kings Landing, least they call her traitor and cut off her head like they did her Lord Father.

“Do you?” he kneels beside her, his dark eyes meeting her bright blue ones like a storm over the great narrow sea, “do you truly?”

Sansa is speechless at first because she should never have said that and stands slowly, keeping her gaze locked on his as he rises with her. “Forgive me your highness I must go. My husband will be waiting for me to take lunch with him.” She curtseys neatly just as her septa taught her, in such a manner befitting a Prince, (she was taught many different ways to curtsey, especially for royalty) and turns to leave. He catches her arm and she stiffens in his grasp, panic flashing across her face that gives away far more than she ever meant too.

“You can speak your peace here Lady Sansa…I would not tell anyone,” his voice is gentle and reassuring but she knows better than to trust anyone here.

“I have spoken my peace to the gods your highness…I should speak no more of it…forgive me,” Sansa says as she pulls free of him and turns away, leaving him alone in the godswood.

               He finds her again by the sea, a secret place near the water. It is a small rectangular patch of stone with old intricate patterns stained into the stone. Sometimes she’s seen Jaime Lannister come down to this place for whatever reason, and when she went to explore herself she found it the most quiet and peaceful place aside from the godswood in Kings Landing. She thinks he’s following her now and it alarms her a little. She drops her skirts when he sees her, shielding her bare ankles from view. She’d taken off her stockings so that she might put her feet in the water, but now with him so close she scrambles up from where she sits on the edge of the stone platform, her feet dangling in the luke warm sea water and gets to her feet, hiding her stockings behind her back.

“Forgive me Lady,” he says formally with a little half bow that makes Sansa almost want to blush, “I did not mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine your highness,” Sansa says with the appropriate mechanical curtsey, her words and mannerisms all echo the same machinery.

“It is a beautiful day for swimming,” he comments lightly, mirth dancing in his eyes and she blushes, knowing that he must have surely seen her stockings before she’d balled them up in her hands and hid them behind her back.

“What is a beautiful woman such as yourself doing out here alone on such a nice day? Should you not be out on the harbor mayhaps with your husband?” He asks her and she smiles faintly, shaking her head and causing the auburn curls near her face to turn into the light breeze.

“No your highness,” Sansa answers lightly, “My Lord Husband is very busy today.”

“That is a shame,” he tells her gently, “that such a great beauty is left to her own devices so often. Is he away often?”

* * *

 

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Tyrion says pointedly as Sansa recounts the day’s events to him, “the appropriate answer should you have desired to keep his interest should have been _yes_.”

“I didn’t want to lead him on,” Sansa frowns at Tyrion, “I can’t…we can’t…”

“It doesn’t mean you couldn’t have enjoyed his company in other ways,” Tyrion says as he finishes his dinner, “Sansa when I said keep your distance… _alright_ I _really_ meant keep your distance, but with this…just enjoy yourself but don’t do anything stupid.”

“He is too old for her Tyrion,” Shae scolds lightly, “he is not interested in her,” Shae gives Sansa an apologetic look before continuing, “he wants information from her like he wants from all the Lannisters…Sansa is no different. He is _using_ her Tyrion.”

“He might be,” Tyrion says thoughtfully as he stares at the bottom of his empty wine glass thoughtfully, “or he is a massive flirt and has noticed how my beautiful wife stares at him so longingly.”

“Do not tell him anything Sansa,” Shae warns pointedly, “tell him nothing you would never want Cersei or Tywin to know. Tell him nothing that if ever the information got back to either of those two that they would take your head for it.”

Sansa nods and goes to bed, her heart heavy with disappointment and apprehension. She doesn’t trust people as it is, and now Shae’s words make her question even Prince Oberyn’s motives.

 

* * *

 

               When he happens upon her again she is twisting a bright orange summer blossom between her fingertips, the same color of blossom that he’d twisted into her hair the day before while they stood upon the platform talking of Dorne and the warm summer sea that his family would often swim in.

“You seem troubled Milady,” he points out as he takes the summer blossom from her fingers and twists it into her hair with a gentle smile.

“I’m only happy for my dear friend Lady Margarey,” Sansa says quietly as she stares out at the gardens that the Tyrells have improved greatly since arriving in Kings Landing. “I am not troubled....I was merely thinking that it might rain the day of her wedding and it would be such a pity…they’ve worked so hard on the decorations.”

Such a lie that she knows even Oberyn can tell she’s lying. He doesn’t say so but it is in the fading wan of his smile that tells her he knows she’s lying to him. She was actually scared for Margarey, she’s told them the truth of Joffrey and she knows that Margarey knows that Joffrey is a monster. She prays for Margarey day and night, prays that he will not hurt her, and prays that he will not put out the light in Margarey’s eyes and in her heart with his cruelty as he has done to her.

“Come,” Oberyn says lightly as he offers his arm to her, “come away with me…let us walk the gardens and talk of happier things. I would not wish to see such a worried look on a beautiful face such as yours.” She curls her arm into his elbow and lets him guide her through the gardens. They talk of many things, and he tells her about Dorne. She longs to see Dorne, to see the shimmering summer sea and the water gardens, the royal apartments built for the beautiful Targaryen queen long ago.  She tells him of the north and the way the snow gathers on the trees and sprinkles down in the wind like rain. The way the godswood looked in the winter, dark and old, filled with blooming winter roses that flooded the valleys in their bloom, hundreds and hundreds of them.  She tells him stories of the old days, stories of the children of the forest and of the first men. He is a good listener, asking only a few questions here and there as she tells him the stories. He seems to like these stories and gives her many of his own; most of them involve his own life and adventures. She is riveted upon him, eager to hear more of his journeys when he notices the time and tells her he must return to Ellaria.

“You must dine with us,” he tells Sansa as he walks her back towards her private apartments with Tyrion, “Ellaria would love to meet you.”

“I would love too,” Sansa smiles faintly and bows politely, “thank you for the walk your highness, good evening.” She is always polite, it’s become mechanical now. She smiles when he feathers his soft lips over her knuckles and then bows to her, before returning to his own private apartments.

 

* * *

 

               That night she has nightmares, and in her terror she suddenly feels weightless and free. She is a hawk high above Kings Landing, the warm summer air in her wings and she races across the night sky. She is free; she has never felt so free in her whole life. She could weep from the freedom of it, to sail over the sea and circle over the keep twice before sailing down low, racing the wind, feeling it glide under her wings.

She is a bird…and she is _free_.

She seems them below her on her next turn and lands on a rock to stare in shock. She shouldn’t be looking but she can’t look away. They are below her, down on the stone platform where she likes to stick her feet in the water on hot days. Naked as their name days, the woman on her hands and knees and the man behind her.  It doesn’t look like anything that has ever been described to her about sex. His hands grip her hips as he pulls her back against him and she arches her hips, soft moans as her dark hair slides down her shoulders, brushing the ground beneath her. He is so sensual in his movements, and Sansa is transfixed because she’s never seen a naked man before…especially not one so…beautiful.

Now she understands why Tyrion warned her of him.

               He is obviously a skilled lover, and Sansa thinks she would make a fool of herself should he have ever decided to take her as a lover. She never imagined things like this, sexual things like what they’re doing. She never knew there were other ways to do such an activity.

_Sansa!_

The voice startles her from her fixation and scares the wits out of her. She thinks she’s been caught before she remembers…she is a bird.

_Sansa wake up!_

She jerks away and blinks her eyes, sits up in bed and realizes the terror in both Tyrion and Shae’s faces.  “She’s awake!” Tyrion yells for the maester, Sansa is frantic as she tries to reorient herself to her surroundings. She is disoriented and confused as the maester examines her, declares that she only had a mild attack of the nerves and sends everyone back to bed. Tyrion tells her that she’d been having a nightmare and then her eyes suddenly clouded over like a summer rain storm…and she was just unresponsive. She’d frightened him so bad he’d summoned the maester and woke up Shae in his panic.

In the morning she notes the red mark on Tyrion’s cheek and he admits that what woke him to her nightmares was her hand hitting him across the face. She apologizes profusely, and he waves her off, claiming there was nothing to forgive.

When in court later that morning Cersei Lannister comments on the red mark on her brother’s cheek. Sansa explains her clumsiness in sleep and Cersei makes a sly little smirk, politely dismissing the conversation. Sansa had been frightened at first; fearful they might think she’d been abusive to her husband.

 

* * *

 

“Her cunt belongs in your bed and no one else’s,” Cersei tells Tyrion quietly as Sansa approaches their private apartments later for lunch. Sansa freezes mid-step and ducks behind a pillar to listen in. She knows not to be caught like this but she also wants to know what Cersei is saying.

“Her _cunt_ ,” Tyrion says firmly, “is mine to do with as I please…and if it ends up in another man’s bed then I have approved of it. Worry not dear sister,” Tyrion says dryly, “I shan’t let my wife go astray without permission. Mind you…your cunt has seen many a different pasture hasn’t it?”

               There is a sharp cracking sound and furious steps following, Cersei sweeping past the pillar without so much as a second glance.  Hands snake out of the darkness behind Sansa and gently clasp her shoulders. She nearly screams until she recognizes the elegant warm fingers curling around her arms. Oberyn steps close behind her, shushes her quietly and whispers near her ear, “apparently you’ve been in my bed.” He sounds amused by this and Sansa tries to smile and play along, though she is entirely humiliated that he’s heard any of it.

“Apparently…I wish someone had told me that…I wasn’t aware,” Sansa smiles half-heartedly back at him.

“Well unless Ellaria has been greedy and keeping you all to herself without telling me…I’m afraid I wasn’t informed either,” he tells her as they step out from behind the pillar. 

“Forgive me if I stepped on you,” Sansa says quickly as they step away from each other after being confined so closely moments before.

“No need,” he waves it off, “you did me no harm….however, now I am curious. Why does the Queen regent believe you and I have lain together?”

It’s such a blunt question Sansa has to fight not to blush, keeping her face as straight and as serious as she can when she replies, “I haven’t any idea your highness.”

“Sansa,” Tyrion cuts into the conversation, standing a few feet away by their apartment door. He shifts his gaze between the two of them and then sighs, “I take it you heard all of that then.”

“I did,” Oberyn smiles at him and Tyrion groans loudly, muttering curses at his sister before turning his gaze to Sansa.

“Sansa, come inside…it would not do for you to be seen talking to him right now after what my sister just said…and please… _please_ tell me you weren’t hiding in this hallway together somewhere because honestly I…”

Oberyn holds a hand up and shakes his head, “nothing has ever happened between Lady Sansa and I Lord Tyrion. The most time we have spent together was in the gardens the other day. We took a turn through the gardens and discussed our homes and that is all.”

“ Then I thank you kindly for entertaining my lovely wife Prince Oberyn, but it is getting late now and I’d rather or lunch not get cold.” Tyrion looks at Sansa expectantly and Sansa curtseys neatly to Prince Oberyn before turning towards her husband. As she enters the room she listens to the sound of Prince Oberyn’s retreating footsteps and sighs softly as Tyrion closes their apartment chamber door behind them.

“And get that flower out of your hair,” Tyrion says as he walks by, “hadn’t you noticed it?”

Sansa frowns and reaches up, feeling the soft summer blossom in her hair. She pulls it free and wonders silently when he’d twisted it into her hair. He seemed to do that a lot whenever he was around her.

“Honestly…you look like a blushing septa after she’d done something horribly naughty, what happened?” Tyrion asks, filling his wine goblet.

“I was…I heard Cersei so I hid behind a pillar and…”

“it was the very same pillar Prince Oberyn happened to be hiding behind at the time,” Tyrion nods, “I had figured you wouldn’t dare openly display any affair you had with him and I’m glad I was right.”

“I told you I won’t…”

“No,” Tyrion shakes his head, “Sansa you don’t need to explain…I know…I understand really I do. I know you won’t and I don’t doubt your honesty.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa learns that being a Stark can be very useful but it has consequences too.  
> IMPORTANT READ BEFORE STARTING THE CHAPTER: This chapter has two fight scenes, one of them is a lot more detailed than the other. If that sort of thing triggers anything for you, look away from that part of the chapter. It's right towards the end, in fact the detailed one is actually the last bit of the chapter and the one towards the end is more of an assault than it is an actual fight, so if that is something you don't care to read, just skip the last bit and the next chapters will be much less violent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it and make no money from it. All of it belongs to those who created Game Of Thrones.

A month goes by and it happens again and again, unexpectedly especially in moments of panic. Sansa worries that someone is going to notice her little…gift. On the upside, she likes being a bird…a rabbit….at one point she was even Tommen’s cat…but she needed to get control of it quickly. So she spent her time practicing in the secret places of the keep, but she could never seem to do it at will. She knew she was what the old stories called a warg. It was an old Stark family trait, one that hasn’t been seen in centuries. Thinking of it brings to mind what she’d seen as a bird, the very first night she’d accidentally done it. The thought of what she’d seen makes her blush and she tries to move her thoughts in a different direction.

               Prince Oberyn has been scarce as of late and she can’t blame him for avoiding her. In truth she knew he was preoccupied with the council Tywin invited him to attend, but she also knew that he no longer traversed the same way he once did through the castle, because Sansa often used that path as well.  The day of the wedding came and Sansa was caught up in it, no time to dwell on Oberyn or even Tyrion and his curious silence. Lately he’s been shifty and whenever he behaves like that it’s because he’s worried about something.

 

* * *

 

                              It is nothing but chaos when Joffrey dies, Sansa and Tyrion both are arrested and she thinks she might die now. She will finally be with her family she thinks as they toss her into the dark cell that she imagines her Lord Father must have sat in while waiting to be executed. She dreams in the darkness of that cell, dreams of a battle between a great red snake and terrible giant. Her Lady Mother once told her that to kill a snake you must step on its head. In her dream the giant crushes the snake’s head beneath its huge foot and Sansa wakes up weeping. She knows what it means she realizes…she knows what this dream means…and she must warn him.

                        A trial by combat is decided, and Sansa sees Oberyn in the halls walking with Ellaria. As she is lead by she looks at him, for the first time Sansa Stark and not a mechanical being as she says “You musn’t stop till he’s dead…you musn’t stop!”

“I understand the rules of combat milady,” Oberyn smiles at her as the distance between them gets further.

“ _No_!” Sansa says and she can see how startled he is by the firm way she speaks to him, this was no frightened little bird but a wolf crying out. “No, you mustn’t stop…you’ll think he’s dead but he won’t be… he’s just waiting for you to let your guard down…don’t stop till you take off his head! You’ll die if you don’t…I saw it!”

Oberyn has stopped in his tracks and he’s staring at the wild auburn haired girl, all fierceness, her blue eyes brighter than he’s ever seen them. He doesn’t know what she means but he will do as she says he thinks…he can feel the fear radiating off of Ellaria at the girls words.

“Someone people can see these things,” Ellaria murmurs, “she looked so certain.”

“We shall see…” Oberyn murmurs back and continues on with her the arena.

 

* * *

 

               The fight is gruesome and by the end both contenders are covered in their own blood and some of the opponents. The red viper collapses beside the mountain with a bought of victorious and bloody laughter, his face covered in blood as he rests for a moment. Sansa wants to scream out to him, plead with him to get up but she is forbidden to speak during the fight. She sees the mountain move and everything happens in slow motion. It was like her head was underwater and everything was fractured around her and blurry. Quick as a whip the red viper rolls to the left and the mountain ends up face down on the cement. He looks shocked; Ellaria mirrors his expression from a distance away. He scrambles for another spear with all the strength he has left, his strength was failing him but the mountain was clearly not done yet.

He grabs at Oberyn’s ankle but can’t keep grip and Oberyn kicks him sharp in the jaw, knocking him away.  With one heavy jab he slams the spear into his throat and throws his body weight into it, pinning the mountain to the ground. He chokes and sputters and blood wells up around his lips while Oberyn grabs for a sword, prepared to take the final blow and end this battle.

Then it was over…and Gregor Cleganes head goes rolling away from his body, bouncing away off into the dirt and gravel. Sansa nearly faints and Tyrion looks positively giddy with relief. They are cleared of all charges and free to go.  On the way back up to the castle Oberyn catches up to them, covered in blood and sweat and he smiles at Sansa and Tyrion. He has this look on his face that tells her he knows…he knows what she meant now and Sansa smiles back at him, relieved and near tears at the same time.

 

               Later that even he visits them in their private apartments, and has dinner with them. Ellaria is exhausted and busy packing their things as they must return to Dorne in the morning so she did not come with him. Sansa is disappointed by this, as she’d wanted to meet Ellaria before he left. They eat and drink well into the night, and Sansa explains the dream she’d had of the red viper and the giant.

“You dream these things often then?” he says curiously, both he and Tyrion are now fixated on her words.

“I never did before I….before I started…”

“Warging…” Tyrion provides, “I know what it’s called….I figured out what was happening to you…you’ve been doing it so often…when I looked up the symptoms I discovered you weren’t sick at all…it’s actually a very old gift of the children of the forest and of the first men. It crops up mostly commonly in the Stark family.”

“I can’t control it,” Sansa says quietly, staring down at her plate, “I’m sorry Tyrion…it just happens…”

“Don’t apologize,” he shakes his head as he sips from his goblet, “it’s not your fault…though I encourage you to try and control it…if the wrong person were to see you do that…”

“I know,” Sansa says quietly and suddenly loses all interest in her dinner.

“I owe you a boon milady,” Oberyn says to break the sudden silence in the room, “you have saved my life and aided me in avenging my sister and her children.”

“You owe me nothing your highness,” Sansa smiles weakly at him, “I knew your motives behind fighting the mountain…I merely wanted to see justice done for your family. What he did to your sister and her children was monstrous…I wanted only to see you survive that day and avenge your family.”

It is late before he leaves, and when he does he presses and gently kiss to her cheek and kisses her knuckles before he leaves. She wishes him a safe journey home and watches him leave forlornly when he can’t see the look on her face.

“You’ll find another Sansa,” Tyrion says quietly when she shuts the door to their apartments; “there will be others.”

* * *

 

She is awoken by the sound of screaming. Wild and outrageous _anger_ , her bed chamber door slams open and Cersei is upon her before she can even cry out.  She drags Sansa from her bed by her hair, screaming curses at her as she goes. “You little _whore_! _You miserable little dornish slut_!”

“Cersei let her go!” Tyrion yells out, climbing out of bed as quickly as he can, racing after his crazed sister who currently is dragging his wife by her hair out into the hall. Sansa is screaming by now, trying to pry Cersei’s grip from her hair but to no avail.

“You miserable little bitch, you little dornish slut what have you done! _WHAT HAVE YOU DONE_?”

“I don’t know what you’re…” Sansa tries to answer, miserable between Cersei shouting in her ear and ripping at her hair.

“LIAR!” Cersei rages, a violent maelstrom of blond hair and flame bright eyes, her elegant fingers clawing at Sansa’s face, dealing sharp and violent slaps across both Sansa’s cheeks. “Do you know how young women like you are dealt with when they dishonor our family Sansa? Do you know what happens to them? DO YOU?”

_I am not your family..._

Sansa’s mind screams this as Cersei pins her to the floor, ripping at Sansa’s hair, slapping and clawing and ripping at her small clothes until she is half bared on the cold stone floor outside the private apartments. The cold night air is chilling to Sansa, the wind blowing across Cersei’s back and whipping her gold hair to one side, making her look for once like a true lioness, violent and vengeful.

Sansa is screaming as the blows rain down upon her, all she can do is close her eyes and rip at Cersei’s hair to keep her at bay, Tyrion is grabbing at his sister to try and pull her off but to no avail.

“Cersei!” Jaime is on her in seconds, ripping his sister back from Sansa who’s weeping and covered in bloody scratches and torn small clothes.  She’s shaking violently in the cold of the night, and Cersei like the lioness she is, tries to rip away from Jaime and assail the frightened young woman again. “You miserable little BITCH what have you done!? What did you promise him? Did you give him yourself? Did you? ANSWER ME!”

“CERSEI!” Jaime roars, trying to yank his enraged sister away from the frightened young woman.

“Thank the seven you’re here,” Tyrion is panting heavily, fragments of his sisters skirts clutched in his fingers. He’d tried everything short of ripping his sister back by her hair. He was nearly ready to try even that when Jaime had arrived.

“Cersei unhand my wife and get the away from her now!” Tyrion demands as Cersei lunges at Sansa again. Cersei laughs, and it’s mocking and high pitched, as she stares at Sansa with flames burning in her eyes, “She’s not your wife Tyrion, she’s nothing…she’s nobody….she doesn’t belong to you anymore. Father has taken her from you! I wonder how you managed it you little whore…no doubt you fucked him…I bet that’s what you did…you batted your pretty eyes at him and opened your legs. Your smart…I’ll give you that….I told you I was right….I told you what the most powerful thing a woman has is…and it’s between her legs and you used it didn’t you? Good girl…smart girl…let’s just hope what your getting is exactly what you wanted because if it isn’t well…” Cersei laughs at her, mocking and cold, “you’re just going to have to live with it.”

“Cersei,” a voice rings out in the cold hallway and everyone freezes. It was like time had stopped, even the sound of the wind faded away as Cersei looked up and realized her Father stood there, his stern face hardened and his eyes like cold diamonds glittering in the torchlight. Beside him stands Prince Oberyn who looks thunderous, his bannermen behind him. Cersei shifts her gaze between her Father and Prince Oberyn, and slowly, every so slowly she crawls back and away from Sansa Stark.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa discovers she doesn't like being on the open water and Ellaria teaches her something about the animal kingdom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game Of Thrones.

“Jaime,” Tywin says quietly, his voice powerful even in such tones, echoing volumes about the kind of anger lurking behind his solemn and hardened face, “take your sister to her bed chambers…I will deal with her later.”

“How did you know?” Tyrion asks Jaime quietly as Cersei gets to her feet.

“I didn’t,” he murmurs back, “I was sent ahead to wake you two up because Father was bringing the Prince to your apartments.”

“What the hell is going on?” Tyrion asks as Jaime catches his sister by the arm.

“The prince wants a prize,” Jaime tells him quietly and then leads his sister away back to her bed chambers.

Shae has arrived and is helping Sansa up, helping her back into the apartments. When the door is shut Tywin looks down at his son, “Tell Lady Sansa to pack up her things, she’s leaving with the dornish party.”

“What?” Tyrion looks baffled and glances at the Prince who gives nothing away except calm confidence. Tywin leads him away from the dornish party and into the apartment. Inside he shuts the door and glares down at his son, suddenly menacing and irritated at once.

“He _knows_ Tyrion,” he says pointedly, “he knows you have not bedded your wife…and when he came to sit before me late last night he demanded a prize…he demanded Sansa Stark.”

“But she’s _married_ ….to _me_!” Tyrion says pointedly.

“I know,” Tywin sneers down at his son, “But because you haven’t consummated the marriage I can’t say no…because _he_ knows…and it’s a little more than that.”

“What more?” Tyrion demands, watching his Father pace the room.

“Dorne is demanding _blood_ Tyrion…blood….the head of Gregor Clegane isn’t going to cut it…they want more than that.”

“So you’re giving her over to them? Father she’s a person, not an object to be traded with! Has she no say in this?”

“No,” Tywin says pointedly, “I’m giving up a valuable piece Tyrion. She is heiress to the north…to the riverlands….and Dorne bloody well knows it. Why the hell else would he demand her?”

 

* * *

 

               Sansa hears them but she cannot comprehend what’s happening. She is being traded like a goat at market just to save the Lannister’s skins. They didn’t want to risk a war with Dorne and now she was being shipped off to them.

“What about Myrcella?” Tyrion asks worriedly.

“That’s why I imagine that Cersei tried to kill the Stark girl,” Tywin sighs, “she’s afraid with Sansa being there they’d see no value in Myrcella anymore…that Myrcella would be in danger.”

“She thinks Sansa will cause Myrcella to be set aside?” Tyrion blinks up at his Father, “this is madness.”

“I’ve told your sister time and again it will strengthen the bond not weaken it but your sister is fiercely protective of her children…and she just lost Joffrey…it’s no wonder she snapped like that.”

Tyrion glares at his Father when he’s not looking. _The nerve to write off such violent behavior…she nearly killed Sansa in a blind rage and Father does nothing stop her._ “I will inform her of the decision..”

“You will,” Tywin nods approvingly, “and perhaps next time when I bestow such a gift upon you…you’ll actually do as you are meant too with it.”

 

 

* * *

 

               The sun is not even over the horizon yet when they usher Sansa out to the harbor. Shae cleaned the scratches on her face and arms and found her clean clothes to wear. She does her best to be presentable even in such unfavorable circumstances. It isn’t that she doesn’t want to go to Dorne, it was simply that she wasn’t expecting this, she’d though she’d seen the last of him but he apparently felt differently about it. They sail out of the harbor just as the sun is rising over the water and Sansa stands on the bow of the boat, watching the narrow sea shimmer in the morning light. She wears a warm wool cloak, the hood drawn up over her head so as to shield the cold wind from her face. Her auburn hair glitter in the sunlight, looking like molten fire pouring out from under her hood.

“I apologize for the earliness of our departure Lady Sansa,” Oberyn says as he approaches from behind, “I wanted to be gone from this place as soon as was possible.”

“It’s fine,” Sansa says quietly, nervously.

“I mean you no harm,” he says as he stands beside her, “I only mean to take you to Dorne with me. You wanted to see my home…no?”

“Yes,” Sansa nods, “I would love to see it.”

 _She was his prize….prize…like a wreath of winter roses after a tourney…_ what has she done?…Is she just like her aunt now? Did she mislead him in some way? She never meant it to go this far, she’d never even intended for anything to come of it and now…now…

“What do you mean to do with me when we reach Dorne?” Sansa asks quietly, staring at the wood grain of the railing.

“I mean to give you my name,” he says as he rests his warm hand over hers, her pale fingers curling onto the railing and his mimicking hers, “If you will have it.”

“I hardly…you hardly….”

“We will know each other…those things take time. If I give you my name you will be safe in Dorne and they will never touch you again. I owe you a boon Lady Sansa…and I will see it carried out.  You and I will know each other…and then if you will have me…I will give you my name.”

“Ellaria,” Sansa says without looking at him, “will I get to know her too?”

She can see him smile from the corner of her eye and she blushes brightly. He catches her hand up in his and kisses her knuckles, giving a little nod with mirth in his eyes, “If you wish. I wasn’t aware that you had want of a lady lover as well.”

“Only once,” Sansa says quietly as she lets him lead her into the cabin of the ship.

 

* * *

 

               The first time she meets Ellaria Sand, she is both intimidated by the woman’s confidence and reassured by her kind heart. Ellaria reminds Sansa of Margarey in a way, she is kind and brave and fierce of heart. Ellaria is good to Sansa; they talk about their childhoods while Oberyn sees to things above deck. Sansa has never been enticed by another woman since Margarey, and even then it was more exploration than anything. Margarey had been good to her, had comforted her when no one else would.

“The Tyrell girl is tricky,” Ellaria says as she watches Sansa thoughtfully, “you know that her brother prefers a man for a lover?”

“Loras…” Sansa blinks at Ellaria and immediately feels the slightest hint of betrayal by Margarey.

“Don’t be angry,” Ellaria says softly, “I imagine she only meant to protect you from the Lannisters…she would have told you the truth eventually I think. She probably wanted to use that marriage to get you out of Kings Landing is all. Once in Highgarden Loras could tell you the truth of it, and even still I imagine at the age you had been you probably weren’t keen on bearing children yet anyways.”

“I will have to do it someday I imagine,” Sansa says a little forlornly. She is disillusioned by court life and by being a Lady. She wants only freedom now, and Ellaria smiles at little at this. She could recognize the longing in Sansa’s eyes.

“I craved the same once,” Ellaria tells her as she watches Sansa pick up a piece of fruit from a bowl on the table before them and nibble at it lightly. “I came from my Lord Father’s keep at Hellholt. I was young when I met Oberyn, a little older than you. I wanted to be free of my Father’s control…even as a bastard I was made to up hold certain standards under his roof. When I met Oberyn it was because I’d snuck out of my Father’s keep while Oberyn was visiting, and he caught me in the stables. I was going to a gathering in the village…I liked to dance and listen to good music so I was going regardless of what my Father wanted. I was twenty by then…I refused to be bound as I was. It wasn’t like I would ever marry a man of title…I was a bastard child what did it matter who I loved or fucked or spent time with?     So I went out,” Ellaria says as she pours herself some wine, “and Oberyn followed me. He’d caught me in the stables and when I told him where I was going he insisted on going with me. So he followed me…and from there…it just went along…we became lovers a month later…and I became his paramour not long after that. We have been together ever since.”

“I would never…” Sansa stammers a little, “I spent….my whole life dreaming of being loved like he loves you…” Sansa says earnestly to Ellaria, “and I would _never_ ….I would not want you to go…or leave…I want you to be with him…always.”

“That’s good,” Ellaria smiles, “you have a kind heart…but it has been abused by those Lannister bastards. Love is out there you know…you have to look for it.”

“I don’t believe in songs anymore,” Sansa says quietly, “I was a fool to.”

“No,” Ellaria says gently, “no you were not. You were very young and young women need to have a little hope at least…life is hard….and love is difficult…it’s not like the songs…but it can be just as true and passionate if you make the effort for it. Oberyn and I have not always seen eye to eye…we fight and bicker just like anyone else. If I had been born a Lady and not a bastard Oberyn and I would have wed long ago…but as it happens fate has decided elsewise and all the better….it has allowed him to take you away from those Lannister bastards.”

 

* * *

 

               A storm hits during their journey and the rocking of the boat makes Sansa horribly sick. This reason alone is why the northern folk belong in the north and not at sea. She was no iron born and she wondered how they managed it all these years. Ellaria is asleep next to Oberyn in the cabin next to hers, but she wakes at the sound of Sansa’s fumbling in the privy. Ellaria sooths her, holds back her hair while Sansa retches. It’s humiliating and disgusting and she wouldn’t let Ellaria help her at first because of it. Eventually Sansa wraps herself up in a cloak and all but flees above deck; the need for icy cold air to sooth the sickness in her stomach has become paramount.

               It feels like the north above deck and Sansa relishes it. It has stopped raining but it’s dark as pitch outside save for the lanterns hanging on iron nails, scattered across the ship. The boat still rocks roughly, Sansa has to hold onto a nearby pole to keep from being pitched to and fro. Something about the storm is so freeing she thinks, the wind blowing off her hood and letting her auburn hair fly freely in the breeze. The ice in the wind is so cold it stings her cheeks but she craves it like she needs air, inhales it deeply as if it were the first time she’s had fresh air in years. She doesn’t care when the wind knocks back her cloak and the icy air slides under her gown, caressing her bare skin with icy fingertips. It’s the closest she’s ever been to a snow storm in years, and she aches with certainty for the north all of a sudden.

               She is dressed haphazardly, not all of her laces are done up and her shift isn’t even properly tied beneath her gown. For once she wishes she could strip off the clothes of a Lady and wear those of a man, if it meant she could let go of the wooden beam she currently clutches in her grip and stand on the bow of the ship, feel the ocean spray across her face like a blizzard of ice and snow, feel the storm rage around her like the greatest freedom.

“Sansa!” Ellaria calls to her and it snaps her from her revelry, “Sansa get in here it’s freezing!”

_The Dorne would never understand the North._

               Sansa thinks this with dismay as she goes back inside, her stomach settled and calm as she strips out of her clothes and dawns her small clothes again. Oberyn is awake now and Ellaria has informed him of the happenings of earlier.

“It feels like home,” Sansa says quietly, “I’ve not felt wind like that since I left Winterfell years ago.”

“In Dorne, we get storms like this once in a while,” Oberyn nods as he watches the pale young woman before him, “though it is not wise to stand in them for too long.”

               Sansa drifts to sleep on the couch in Oberyn’s quarters after they talk, and she doesn’t wake until morning. Ellaria is still asleep but Oberyn is gone, and so she steals past the sleeping woman without waking her. Above deck it is warmer now, the sky is clear and the morning sunlight is warm on Sansa’s skin. They were getting closer to Dorne, or so she is informed by Oberyn’s bannermen. She sits with his bannermen and eats breakfast above deck, trying to keep hold of her fruit bowl as it attempts to slide away from her every now and then. Never in her wildest dreams did she ever imagine her life would become this, nor did she think her Lord Father would ever see the day that she’d marry a dornish prince.

 _Might_ marry…he was giving her the choice…she wondered what would happen if she turned him down….

               Cersei had been thoroughly enraged by her departure with Oberyn. Her words reminded Sansa of how Cersei had been all but thrilled to marry Robert Baratheon but only to discover it was certainly _not_ what she had wanted at all.

_“Let’s just hope what your getting is exactly what you wanted because if it isn’t well…” Cersei laughs at her, mocking and cold, “you’re just going to have to live with it.”_

Those words haunted Sansa, and she wondered what had caused Cersei to be so angry with her in the first place. She spends most of the day like this, drifting on her thoughts near the bow of the ship (her favorite place on the whole ship to be honest) when Ellaria drops down next to her, noting the frown curving the young woman’s lips downward.

“I don’t understand why such a beautiful day would make such a beautiful woman frown,” Ellaria tells her gently.

“I don’t understand,” Sansa says quietly, “why Lady Cersei was so angry with me.”

Ellaria goes quiet at those words and Sansa glances at her before turning her gaze back out to the sea. Finally Ellaria answers thoughtfully, her eyes riveted upon the shimmering sea as well, “She fears you put her daughter in danger.”

“I would never endanger Myrcella,” Sansa objects sharply, “I would never do anything to hurt her.”

“I know,” Ellaria smiles, “but this is the paranoia of a woman who’s spent her whole life being paranoid. No doubt she has many things to hide and she is fiercely protective of her children. She probably thinks you mean to bring ruin to her daughter.” Ellaria rubs the thin fading scratch on Sansa’s cheek and smiles a little before turning her gaze back to the sea. Her next words confuse Sansa more than anything and it leaves Sansa a little weary.

“Do you know how snakes kill?” she says quietly, her expression unreadable in the morning light.

“What?” Sansa says with a soft frown.

“Do you know how snakes kill?” she asks again gently, glancing at Sansa. “They are silent killers…most don’t give any warning. The most dangerous of them all is the Viper…because a viper kills with poison, and a viper never loses track of it's prey. The Red Viper of Dorne is notorious for this, they are the most intelligent and cunning of their kind. It's venom does not immediately kill but rather causes it's victim to suffer a slow and painful death."

 Sansa watches Ellaria thoughtfully when she falls silent and wonders well into the end of the day and towards the evening, which Red Viper she was referring too. 


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa learns more about Oberyn and Ellaria and they learn more about her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game Of Thrones.

The closer they are to Dorne, the hotter it is. Ellaria has given Sansa a dress to wear, something that reveals her bare arms and lower back and Sansa feels so out of place. She is of the north, and women in the north don’t dress like this. There was something wonderful though, in wearing such light and thin material, material that shaped to her curves and flowed out around her in gentle waves of sheer fabric. She felt like a princess in it, though Ellaria had told her in truth she was a queen. She feared the men would stare at her but they didn’t, they treated her with respect and never said a word against her. She let her auburn hair down, let it fall in waves down her back and down around her face, twisting braids atop the crown of her head and weaving Stark grey ribbon into it as she went. She liked being allowed be to a Stark again, even her gown was made of a deep grey material.

“We’re nearly there,” Oberyn says near her ear as he walks up beside her, his hand warm on her back, “Dorne is just beyond those mountains,” he points, referencing to the barren mountain side before them. The land has changed from great forests and given way to deserts and golden sand. “Dorne is not all sand,” he tells her as they gaze upon the land in the distance, “there are great valleys of rolling green meadows, mostly in the dornish marches near the ruins of Summerhall. That is still part of Westeros however.”

“Summerhall belonged to the Targaryens,” Sansa muses aloud as she recalls her lessons of geography for Westeros.

“Yes,” Oberyn nods, “It was burnt down the night Rhaegar Targaryen was born, nobody ever really knew why.”

“I heard tell it was their attempt at waking a dragon egg…or so the story  goes…it fits you know. I’ve heard stories of how Daenerys Targaryen woke her dragons. She sacrificed someone in the fire to give them life in return. It would make sense that whoever did it probably thought if they sacrificed so many they would revive the dragon egg involved.”

“Very clever of you,” he remarks lightly with a nod, “I wondered the same thing once…however…why did it work for Daenerys and not those of Summerhall?”

“I don’t know,” Sansa shrugs, “a difference in will perhaps? Maybe Daenerys did it with love in her heart…and maybe those who burned the people of Summerhall alive did it with ambition instead?”

“Good,” Oberyn nods, “I believe the same thing.”

“So you think dragons are born of love then?” Sansa smiles faintly, “Such a dangerous race of creature…born of love.”

“Love is dangerous,” Oberyn tells her thoughtfully, “it is passionate and is capable of great violence when tested. It drives people to do many things…sometimes good…sometimes bad. Love is the most powerful thing in the world…if love could not bring dragons back, nothing can.”

“Love for what though…” Sansa wonders aloud.

“Her husband whose funeral pyre she used to bring her dragons back to life….the witch who murdered him burned with him.”

“How do you know all this?” Sansa says as she turns to look at him.

“I hear stories…I have eyes and ears as my brother does all over Essos,” Oberyn shrugs casually, “they tell me anything I want to know.”

“It’s almost ominous though, don’t you think..” Sansa says quietly, “that Rhaegar was born of fire and blood. Born the night so many lost their lives…” Sansa trails off, blinking into the morning light, “a dragon they said he was….the last dragon.”

“Rhaegar was no more a dragon that I am a true viper,” Oberyn chuckles, “they call those with the blood of the dragon that though they are not truly dragons. Targaryens can burn just like us…they are no different than anyone else.”

“It’s strange though isn’t it?” Sansa frowns deeply, “it doesn’t make sense.”

“I heard a story once,” he says quietly in response, “a story of the Asshai…who claim that there lord of light or fire…whatever they call him…that he can bring people back from dead with fire.”

“Do you think Rhaegar was stillborn?” Sansa frowns up at him, “that maybe they thought…or tried too…”

“No,” Oberyn shakes his head, “I don’t believe in such things….Rhaegar was born the night of the fire but he was born just as anyone else is into this world….I think the fire began because one of those fool Targaryens were trying to hatch a dragon egg most likely.”

 

* * *

 

               The don’t speak of it anymore and Sansa can’t blame him. Rhaegar is a sore topic for everyone. There were nights in Kings Landing that she found herself angry at the man she’s never met, at the aunt who she never got to know because her foolish relative ran off with the crown prince of Westeros and started a war.  When it gets dark Sansa goes below deck, takes dinner with Ellaria and Oberyn. Oberyn tells her about his family, and each of his children. Obara has wielded a spear like her Father before her since she was old enough to walk. Nymeria was elegance and manners, (something Sansa can agree upon gladly and hopefully get along with) Tyene was as viperous as her Father before her, skilled in herbs and poisons just as her Father was. Sarella enjoyed city life, and comes and goes as she pleases from Sunspear. Elia, Obella, Dorea, and Loreza were all of Ellaria’s children and were still two young to truly develop good skills…but they would be as quick as their father before them, Sansa had no doubt about that.

               In turn Sansa told them of Winterfell and of her family. She began with her Lord Father, who Oberyn had met before but never alluded as to how or when. Her Lady Mother Caitlyn was a kind woman, dutiful and she is who Sansa learned much from growing up. Her brother Robb was the eldest, he looked just like their Lady Mother in the sense that his hair was as auburn as Sansa’s with the same blue eyes of their Lady Mother. He was just like his Father though, he knew he would be Lord of Winterfell one day and took that very seriously. Sansa was second behind him, and after her came Arya, who people often said was a great deal like her aunt Lyanna in the sense that she would rather pick up a sword then wear a dress too. She was wild just like her aunt had been, and completely uncontrollable. After Arya came Bran and then Rickon.  Jon was eldest even over Sansa, and when she spoke of Jon she spoke of him fondly, not with the cruelty she’d done him before.

“I was a fool,” Sansa murmurs quietly, “I should have spent my days loving them all…and now I’ve lost them and I’ll never get to tell them I’m sorry.”

“You know that Jon Snow is dead for certain then?” Oberyn asks curiously, his dark eyes meeting hers.

“No,” Sansa shakes her head lightly, “I’ve just not heard from him…in so long…I don’t know if he’s dead or alive and when I wanted to write to him I was forbidden too. I’m sure he’s heard the news…word travels fast to the wall.”

“You were young,” Ellaria comments, “you were raised to believe bastards were beneath you…but I assure you that in Dorne we are beneath _no one_. We are equals in all things save title and marriage.”

“It isn’t their fault they were born bastards,” Oberyn says thoughtfully, “all of my children are bastards but they live in the royal apartments with Ellaria and I all the same. It is their right as my children, regardless of whether they have my name and a title or not.”

“Dorne and Westeros are the same in that regard,” Sansa says quietly, “It seems that no matter where you go the circumstances of your birth will haunt you like a plague. I will never rid myself of the title as a Lady…it’s been more of a burden to me than a blessing these past few years. I envied Jon for so long in Kings Landing…envied the freedom he had…if I were born a bastard nobody would have ever had a second thought for me…I would have been free to run from that terrible place long ago.”

“Or killed,” Ellaria points out, “they would have killed you…you would have been useless to them.”

“If Dorne is such a free country…why not allow illegitimate children to inherit? Why not allow Obara to inherit from you as she is your eldest….that is the way it goes in Dorne I believe…that women inherit just the same as men do?” Sansa wonders aloud.

“Yes,” Oberyn smiles a little, “and I have brought this up to my brother as well…but he will not allow it…he feels that any dealings with Westeros would be tarnished by doing this…it would offend the Westrosi people if they were made to deal with illegitimate children. They feel that bastards are baseborn scum and unworthy of their perfect trueborn children.”

Guilt…lots and lots and lots of _guilt_. Sansa was one of those narrow minded fools once…

Ellaria all but jabs him in the ribs for his comment and Sansa hopes that what she had been thinking hadn't been written all over her face.  She ducks her head a little, drinking from her wine goblet and keep her gaze anywhere but on the two sitting across from her.

“You couldn’t help your mistakes Sansa,” Ellaria says after a little while, “you knew no better.”

“It’s fine,” Sansa shakes her head, “I was a stupid little fool to ever believe in such nonsense. When I think on it….it makes me a little sad…my Mother felt that way about Jon…she was always hard on him…and I think it was because she loved my Lord Father and she felt betrayed by him. It broke her heart to see him bring home a child that was not hers and then demand she raise him with her own children like he’d done no wrong to her. My Mother was…she wasn’t…she doesn’t share. She felt like he was parading what he’d done before her as some kind of punishment…or cruelty…and that’s what she saw it as. He would never speak of Jon ‘s mother…never tell her a single thing about his parentage save that he was the Father. My Mother grew to be horribly bitter about Jon…and I suppose I learned what I knew from her example.”

“He never said….not once…” Ellaria says, mildly baffled by Sansa’s story, “he just let her believe whatever she wanted of him…never tried to explain himself at all?”

“No,” Sansa shakes her head a little sadly; she felt such compassion for her beloved Lady Mother. “He was the love of her life and he broke her heart and wouldn’t tell her why.” The conversation was making Sansa uneasy and Oberyn’s sudden silence made her uncomfortable. She excused herself and went to sit above deck, even if it was icy cold she’d rather sit out in that miserable cold then endure Oberyn’s pointed stare any longer. He might be handsome…he might have saved her…but she thinks it will take much more than that to sway Sansa to marry him. He was twice her age and she saw many political advantages to the marriage…but she knew what kind of man he was too. She knew he would not hold faithful too her, it wasn’t in his nature. If she ever came to love him would she be just as bitter?

* * *

 

               She is up there for nearly an hour before he comes looking for her. He sits beside her and drapes a cloak over her shoulders, a cloak that smells distinctly of him and shimmers in the lantern light, the colors of the Martell family.  “Forgive me,” he says quietly, “I did not know the root of your distaste for illegitimate children.”

“Sometimes when I look back at it I find it a wonder that I ever believed any of those stupid songs,” Sansa says thoughtfully, “I don’t like to think on the things that went on between my parents. I think maybe that’s why I just let myself believe in them…I wanted to see the world in a better light…I wanted to see only what I wanted to see.”

“The world is hard,” Oberyn agrees, “but you are strong…and you will have Ellaria and I should you decide you want us. I can promise you I will never do you as your Father did to your Mother. I will never hide it from you and I will tell you always….should you want me to refrain from extra martial relations I will do so for you.”

“I would not ask you to give up Ellaria….you have been with her for so long now…you have children together…if anything I am the interloper.”

“Ellaria agreed to this,” Oberyn says as he loops an arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer, to which she is grateful. Her cheeks are icy and so are her fingertips. She clutches his cloak tighter around her shivering frame and burrows into his side for warmth. At this point she really doesn’t care; she’s too cold to mind how inappropriate it probably is. For some bizarre reason it gets horribly hot during the day and freezing at night, though Oberyn assures her it will not be the same once they reach Dorne.

Sansa nods, pleased to know that Ellaria had a say in the whole thing. She feels him pull her tighter against him, probably noticing her acceptance of his warmth and opting to pull her closer to him. “I have lived my life as I wanted too; I do not heed anyone but my own will. I listen to suggestions perhaps…but I have spent most of my life being free to love many…it isn’t so bad as you think it is…to be able to love whoever you want without restraint. You only live once…do as you dream Sansa. If you want to marry me but someday find another who you like better than I would not object to him. If anything I would ask you share him.” He shrugs lightly, “I like the taste of both men and women alike, I do not see the point in restraining myself from beauty for the sake of propriety. Though I will never lie to you and I will never keep it from you…I will tell you the truth in all things,” he says as he lightly kisses the top of her head and whispers near her ear, “this I promise you.”

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Ellaria play a game with Oberyn, and Sansa meets his children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game Of Thrones.

Dorne is beautiful…Sansa has no words to describe it. There is sand literally _everywhere_ , but on three sides of Sunspear is the warm summer sea, and the first thing Sansa wants to do is go swimming. How long has it been since she went swimming? How long since she reclined in the warm mineral springs near Winterfell, enjoyed the heat that warmed her chilled body? It’s difficult to walk around at first, the ground shifts beneath her feet irritably. Sansa is grateful for Ellaria’s gown now, it’s sweltering hot in Sunspear, and despite the cloth awning above their heads as they enter Sunspear, Sansa still fears she will be as red as a tomato before the following morning.

Ellaria was quick to agree with her about swimming and together they ran (Ellaria ran, Sansa fell on her face more then ran to the shoreline,) towards the private beach of Sunspear and Ellaria went splashing into the water dress and all. Sansa followed suit, she had no desire to strip down in front of random people. The water was so warm it was intoxicating, soon giving into her desire to strip off her outer gown along with Ellaria and swim in her breast wraps and small clothes. It felt so good to let the warm water slid through her auburn curls, she was so enamored she hadn’t noticed the blond haired girl darting into the water right towards her.

“Sansa!” Myrcella lets out a cry of joy and Sansa is frozen for a moment, blinks away the memory of Cersei’s wraith and smiles at the young girl.  

“Myrcella,” Sansa smiles at her, “It’s been so long!”

“I know!” Myrcella smiles brightly, “I heard you were coming…Prince Oberyn sent word ahead a day or so ago by raven. My Lady Mother wrote me as well and said you were coming to live with us here in Sunspear.”

“Did she?” Sansa smiles at her though she catches Ellaria’s eyes from behind Myrcella and Ellaria looks anything but thrilled about what Myrcella said.

“Yes,” Myrcella smiles at her, “she says we shall be the best of friends!”

She doesn’t like where this is going…

“Oh yes of course,” Sansa smiles at her, “How did you find us out here?”

“Oh I saw you and Ellaria running for the beach,” Myrcella smiles as she swims around Sansa, “Its _dreadfully_ hot here isn’t it? When I first moved here I could hardly stand it. Trystane and I though, we’ve found all the secret places of Sunspear, and after a while the heat wasn’t so bad. I’m sure you’ll get used to it…though…you’re from the _north_ …I imagine it must be even hotter for you.”

“It is very hot,” Sansa agrees, still holding the mechanical smile in place as brightly as she can manage for the younger girl. What game Cersei was playing at she had no idea, other than maybe trying to guilt Sansa into keeping Myrcella in good standings.

“Northern women are sturdy,” Sansa hears Oberyn’s voice cut in as he walked into the water, shedding his clothes save for his breeches, “they endure all things.”

“You have no idea,” Sansa mutters under her breath, turning away so that Myrcella wouldn’t hear her comment. Sansa swims around, catches sight of Myrcella trying to be a mechanical princess in the water and stifles a laugh. Once upon a time that would have been _her_ , trying to curtsey and bow even in waist deep water like some kind of puppet on strings. Myrcella is polite and well-mannered when she speaks to Oberyn, and bids them all a fond farewell before she clambers out of the water and gathers a towel around herself.

               Sansa is watching Myrcella depart when Oberyn catches her by the waist, nearly making her jump right out of her skin. His hands are warm on her waist, it wasn’t inappropriate…he wasn’t overstepping…his hands were just warm and her skin was nearly bare to their touch. Yet the touch made her stiffen a little and she tried to calm herself, tried to breathe through the sudden shock. It felt like she were a boat on the waves, tipping and turning upon the water, the looming threat of accidently warging into a nearby fish or the raven sailing overhead, was never-ending. She had better control now, but she knew what it felt like right before she warged, and she could feel the magic bubbling up in her, threatening take hold. Being a warg had become an escape route for her mind when it was in a state of panic, and now Sansa had to try and unravel years of anxiety just to learn to control it. Just because he was holding her didn’t mean he meant to harm her, it didn’t mean he was going to do anything horrible.

His grip loosens when she stiffens and he lets go entirely, swimming around so he might face her instead, “I apologize, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It’s alright,” Sansa smiles as she tips her head back, exposing the soft pale skin of her throat as she dunks her hair in the water, “I just…my mind was elsewhere and I hadn’t realized you were there.”

“Don’t let Myrcella trouble you,” he says gently, “she is young and doesn’t realize what she is saying sometimes. We just let her be a child while she is still a child… we let her enjoy her childhood and when she says something out of turn we pay no heed too it.”

It is strangely quiet as they speak, and Sansa feels the hair on the nap of her neck stand up, “Oberyn…” Sansa says thoughtfully as she looks around, “Where’s Ellaria?”

Then without warning she springs up out of the water like a rabbit springs from tall grass, tackling Oberyn with all her body weight as she sends him ass over end backwards into the water, the two of them tumbling over together. Sansa lets out a strangled cry of alarm, startled before she realizes they are both laughing as they emerge from the water coughing and sputtering.

This would be one of those moments Sansa thinks as she watches them, one of those moments when she would see the real Oberyn Martell under all that Prince of Dorne, Red Viper mystery. They are laughing and coughing up water, Ellaria’s make-up is running down her face and the fabulous Prince of Dorne is currently trying to keep his breeches up on his hips, the water having gotten hold of them in the vacuum of air as he'd been submerged all at once by Ellaria.

“Well,” Sansa laughs a little, recalls how they did similar things in Winterfell except it involved snow and lots of it…usually being crammed down the back of ones gown or tunic.

“Two on one Sansa,” Ellaria smirks at Oberyn as he catches her up in his arms and kisses her passionately. When he sets her down and adds as she glances at Sansa, “We can take him.”

“I’d really rather not…” Sansa blinks wide, has no time to prevent the noble Prince of Dorne from catching her up in his arms and tossing her ass first into the water. She pops up from under the water moments later, coughing and sputtering and watches Ellaria fling water at him. It was like being in Winterfell again, and she liked it. She jumped up and helped Ellaria, dodges to the right and Ellaria to the left when he charges them. There is water being flung in all directions and Sansa is screaming with laughter, holding her hands up as she tries to tell the difference between deep water and shoreline.

“We need re-enforcements!” Ellaria shouts, “Pull back!”

“You shall never prevail against the might of Dorne!” Sansa hears him cackle ominously.

“Winterfell!” Sansa cries out and charges him.

“Oh what the hell,” Ellaria laughs and darts after the wild auburn haired girl, shouting, “Hellholt!”

Two against one proved his undoing as he catches them, one in each arm and willing lets himself topple back into the water, taking them down with him. When they emerge from under the water they can hear the pounding of feet on the sand and children sailing into the water crying out different things at once, Ellaria letting out a joyful cry as she embraces her children. Sansa is surrounded she realizes, surrounded by curious young faces and some older ones closer to the shoreline. She guesses the woman wearing leather armor must be Obara, and the one beside her must be Tyene.

“Now we have an army worthy of Hellholt,” Ellaria declares to her children as they proceed to tackle their Father, who swings them each up into his arms to hug them fiercely. Sansa clumsily tries to make her way the shoreline, soaked to the bone with her red hair slicked back away from her face. Obara is watching her thoughtfully why Tyene seems to be still deciding what to think. It does however, catch Sansa off guard when the spear in Obara’s hand is suddenly sailing down into the sand just in front of her, and Sansa is left to stare at the spear and then at Obara as she topples over backwards into the water out of fright, earning boughts of laughter from both Obara and Tyene.

She recognized this game…it was like the game Arya and her brothers used to play in the godswood, except Obara was playing with spears and not swords. In an instant she is scrambling for the spear, trying to yank it up out of the ground because she knows what Obara is doing now. Just as the young woman turns, spear in hand Sansa can hear Ellaria cry out and Oberyn’s commanding voice, ordering her to stop. Sansa doesn’t need him to protect her this time, she can do this…she can do this…

She wretches the spear out of the sand with all her strength and lifts it just high enough to block the incoming swing, the wood of the two spears clattering loudly together as Obara presses her weight down upon it and Sansa pushes upward with all her might. Obara smiles down at her, nods a little and relents all together. She takes the spear in her hand and slams it down into the sand nearby, dusts her hands clean and tilts her hand to one side, “I suppose you’ll do.”

“Obara,” Oberyn says as he steps onto the sand, looking for all the world like the red viper of legend and not the man she’d just been having a water fight with moments ago, “Sansa is our guest…she will be living here with us. You will not treat in such a way ever again.”

“Of course Father,” Obara says with a nod, “I only wanted to see what sort of metal she is made of.”

 _The kind of metal that doesn't want to get skewered...that kind of metal._ Sansa thinks, watching the conversation between Oberyn and his daughter. 

“For fucks sake Obara,” Ellaria scolds as she approaches the group, “She only just got here today.”

Somehow Sansa had a feeling that this was not the end of the test…it was only just beginning.

 


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa feels out of place and Ellaria notices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

Once she is settled into her new bed chamber she changes into a soft sand colored gown, the royal seamstress would be in tomorrow to take her measurements so that she might make new gowns for Sansa, but for now she would borrow another of Ellaria’s. Her auburn hair is twisted back into neat braids that hang down over her left shoulder. Tonight she would dine with Prince Doran and his family, and that alone made her nervous. Myrcella and been in and out of her chambers recently, only to tell her about the dinner and to find out what color Sansa was wearing because Ellaria wanted to know. She’d given Sansa a number of different gowns to pick from, and Sansa was grateful for that.

What in the seven was she doing _here_?

Sansa thinks quietly to herself as she stares at her reflection in the mirror. She looks Dornish, and that was alright expect for the fact that she was of the north. She was the queen in the north and she was in Dorne. She was an interloper, she didn’t care that Ellaria agreed to it…no sane woman agrees to letting her beloved marry another woman. She just couldn’t wrap her head around how Ellaria can let him do this, let him court her. It would make Sansa crazy to see someone she loves so dearly marry another. If it were for the best, she imagines she could let him go, she imagines she could accept it had to be done. This wasn’t for the best though…this was because Oberyn felt it was his duty to do this, he wanted to be her shield but she didn’t want him to sacrifice so much for her…she wasn’t worthy of it.

 

* * *

 

               Ellaria watches the Stark girl enter the dining room, a mechanical lady on strings as she goes through the mannerisms. She curtseys for Oberyn’s brother Doran, exchanges pleasantries, sits neatly beside Myrcella and talks pleasantly with the people around the table. She hardly eats anything and this worries Ellaria. She was such a beautiful woman, she has seen the fire in Sansa earlier today and yet it seems as if all that remains now is smoldering ashes.

“Sansa,” Ellaria asks gently, “are you well? You’ve hardly eaten anything today.”

“I’m fine thank you,” Sansa smiles at her and Ellaria tries not to be offended by the way Sansa is so proper with her. It was as if the time they’ve spent together never happened. Sansa was comfortable with her earlier today and now she was distant and quiet…the girl she knew in Kings Landing.

Something was wrong.

Oberyn has noticed too she realizes as she watches the Stark girl, his dark gaze is fixed on her face as her bright blue eyes stare at nothingness while the conversation around her whirls and spins. She only snaps out of her daze when Myrcella speaks to her, and then Sansa smiles kindly at the young woman, agreeing to go for a walk in the gardens with her. Maybe being among Oberyn’s family intimidates her, perhaps she needs the open air to be herself?

She excuses herself after a while, tries not to run to the gardens because _that_ would not be appropriate in the halls of her lovers brother. When she finds them, Myrcella is pouring her heart out to Sansa.

“He’s so handsome…I don’t know what I shall do,” Myrcella admits quietly, “I know we are meant to be betrothed one day…and I do not oppose to the marriage Sansa really I don’t….I’m just so…I get so _nervous_.”

Sansa smiles gently, and Ellaria leans closer, listens to the soft words the other woman has to say to Myrcella. “You will find it in you Myrcella…when I was your age I was just as nervous around…”

“Joffrey,” Myrcella nods and stares out at the beautiful sea in the distance, the gardens were high up and overlooked it. Ellaria can see Sansa visibly flinch at the name, quickly masking a sour look on her face before answering; “Yes...Joffrey.”

Ellaria knew that Myrcella wasn’t aware of the truth of her brother, did not know his madness as Sansa did. Myrcella ducks her head a little, looking forlorn, “My poor sweet brother…what a terrible fate he met.”

“There you are,” Ellaria cuts in before Sansa can answer Myrcella, “I’ve been looking all over for you two…Sansa I needed to talk to you about tomorrow…Myrcella…I believe Trystane is looking for you.”

“Oh,” Myrcella smiles as she gets to her feet, “Of course…thank you Ellaria.”

They watch the young woman go before Ellaria drops down next to Sansa, gazing at her mournful face. “Do not mind her my dear…do not mind what she says…she doesn’t know.”

“It’s alright,” Sansa says softly, staring out at the sea, “I don’t mind.”

“I think you do,” Ellaria says softly, catching Sansa’s hand between her own and rubbing it soothingly, “I think you are greatly troubled this evening…what is bothering you so?”

“Nothing,” Sansa smiles faintly at Ellaria and sighs, “I suppose I’m just tired is all.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Ellaria says gently, “I can tell when someone is lying to me and you my dear…are lying to me.”

“It isn’t right is it?” Sansa says quietly, “That I should be offered to marry Oberyn and you not at all. You should marry him…it should be _you_ Ellaria…it shouldn’t be _me_ …I’m not worthy of him…I don’t deserve him…you do… _you_.”

“I agreed to it Sansa,” Ellaria says gently, smoothing a lose lock of auburn curls away from Sansa’s face, “He would never have done it if I didn’t agree. That is the rule between us…we are man and wife without acknowledgement…but man and wife all the same. The only difference between you and I will be that your marriage to him is acknowledged whilst mine will never be. I accept that, I accepted it a long time ago when I realized I was going to spend the rest of my days loving a dornish prince, knowing I will never be allowed to marry him because I am a bastard. We belong to each other under the eyes of the gods…they know our love is true…that is good enough for me.”

Sansa smiles faintly, nods her head and sighs, “I just still don’t feel right doing it.”

“My dear,” Ellaria smiles at her, “Oberyn will simply have two beautiful wives instead of one. If the Targaryens can do it…we can do it too.”

“Rhaenys and Visenya never exactly saw eye to eye I think,” Sansa observed thoughtfully.

“That was there brother’s fault,” Ellaria points out, “he favored Rhaenys over Visenya and drove her away because of it. They were estranged in the end if I remember right…Visenya and Aegon wanted nothing to do with each other after Rhaenys died.”

“That and the incest…” Sansa trails off.

“That and the incest,” Ellaria agrees, “so you see we have an advantage over them. We’re not related…and Oberyn loves fiercely…he will love us equally in turn and will not favor either side.”

Ellaria watches the fragile young woman stare out at the sea so hard she wonders what it was she was staring at. Until she realizes the beautiful young woman is crying, tears shimmering in her eyes.  “Oh my darling…” Ellaria says gently, pulling Sansa into her arms, “I did not mean to make you weep.”

“I spent…all my life wondering if love existed like it does with you and Oberyn,” Sansa says softly against Ellaria’s neck, “it’s beautiful…it really is.”

Ellaria smiles, brushing the hair away from her face and kissing the tears from her cheeks, “We are the stuff of songs, no?”

“Yes,” Sansa laughs a little, closes her eyes against the feel of Ellaria’s lips on her cheeks and her warm hands smoothing over her bare arms. “I shall write a song about your love.”

“I would love to hear it when you finish with it,” Ellaria laughs, her eyes twinkling with mirth, “will you make Oberyn a noble Dornish Prince who heroically saves the beautiful Dornish Lady from her boring life trapped within stone walls?”

“Yes,” Sansa giggles a little, “and we can say he rode astride a great noble sand steed.”

“Yes,” Ellaria nods with a laugh, her fingers curling in Sansa’s hair. Ellaria was enamored of the young woman, so beautiful when she laughed that she couldn’t help but try and make her laugh some more. She smooth’s kisses along her cheeks and jawline, only to be surprised when Sansa turns her head and presses a kiss to her cheek, smiling against her skin.

“Thank you,” she whispers against Ellaria’s cheek.

“For what my darling?” Ellaria asks, riveted upon the woman in her arms.

“For making me laugh,” Sansa says softly, “I never laugh anymore…it feels so good to smile…to be allowed to be happy again.”

“Then I shall endeavor to make you smile more,” Ellaria nods and holds her, the two women warm against the other. She had no idea that the young woman was so starved for love, for any sliver of kindness given to her. They must have been horrible to her in Kings Landing.

Ellaria likes to hold Sansa like this, kiss away her tears and warm her heart with love. The young woman is so relaxed in her arms it doesn’t surprise her when Ellaria lightly feathers her lips over Sansa’s and she returns the kiss. Oberyn had mentioned before that Sansa had a lady lover once; mayhaps not in the full meaning of the word…but Oberyn imagined it had been Margarey Tyrell…though Sansa neither confirmed nor denied it.  Ellaria presses soft kisses to the young woman’s lips, Sansa easily shifting in her arms so that her fingers might slide, feather light along her neck, sliding up to tangle in her dark hair.

“It appears I’ve been left out,” Oberyn comments lightly, his voice snapping Sansa from her revelry. Ellaria watches the girl retreat back into herself like she’d been caught doing something wrong. “Please,” Oberyn says as he approaches them, “don’t stop on my account.”

“Oberyn,” Ellaria scolds him lightly, her lover could be very forward when he wanted to be and right now the girl was skittish enough as it was.

He smiles playfully at her, dropping down beside Ellaria. The young woman has all but retreated away from Ellaria and she finds that she sorely misses her warmth. “Do not be afraid my Sansa…Oberyn will not think you were trying to steal me away from him.”

“I wasn’t thinking that…”Sansa stammers, a blush rising to her cheeks. She looks oddly beautiful like that.

“Don’t be afraid my summer blossom,” Oberyn smiles at her as he kisses Ellaria’s cheek, “I will share her with you gladly.”


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Ellaria get closer. Jon Snow has no idea what is going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game Of Thrones.

They spend the following day together, Sansa quietly pleased that she can go out into the warm sunshine and rest her feet in the water. Ellaria lies out and basks in the warm sunlight just a ways behind her and Sansa glances back at her thoughtfully. She’s beautiful, Sansa thinks…beautiful and Sansa wants to kiss her again.  She pulls her feet from the edge of the water and walks back towards her, dropping down under the cloth canopy and crawling on her knees towards Ellaria. She lies on her side beside the other woman and watches her nap lightly. She has beautiful curves, soft dark skin that Sansa could spend all day touching. She never acted on such thoughts before, but here she felt like she was allowed to be brave.

She slides her fingers down Ellaria’s side and marvels at the smoothness, her forefinger brushing the underside of her breast as she slides her hand delicately over the firmness of her stomach.

Ellaria smiles though her eyes are closed, her hand snaking up to rest warmly on Sansa’s, “Curious hands.”

“Forgive me,” Sansa murmurs and tries to pull away but Ellaria won’t allow it, instead she smiles slyly and moves Sansa’s hand to her breast, opens her dark eyes to watch the way the other woman’s eyes dilate upon the feel of her full warm breast beneath her palm.

Sansa is brave or so she tells herself, cupping the feel of her breast through the thin material of her gown, slides her hand up between her breasts and down over the other. Ellaria reaches up, pulls Sansa down to her so that she might kiss her and Sansa thinks she could do this all day. They do mostly, gently touches and laughter and kisses. They eventually sleep but only lightly, and when they wake they talk about the day and Sunspear and of songs that Sansa knows. Ellaria makes her feel comfortable, and Sansa doesn’t shy away from her when they are alone together.

“You and I spend so much time together the others will think I am courting you and not Oberyn,” Ellaria laughs and Sansa smiles lightly against her stomach, pressing a kiss there lightly. “You are afraid of men…aren’t you?” Ellaria says gently, “you know that Oberyn is not going to hurt you…he would never…”

“I like men,” Sansa admits, “but my experiences in Kings Landing….I was never treated kindly by any man there save one…and he was a hound. He leant me his cloak and saved me from nearly being raped in a riot.”

“Seven blessings to him then,” Ellaria nods, “for protecting you as he did.”

“He fled during the battle of the blackwater…when Stannis Baratheon tried to take Kings Landing,” Sansa admits quietly.

“A deserter then,” Ellaria frowns, “a deserter but a good man.”

“He wasn’t always a good man,” Sansa says, “He was called the hound.”

“You speak of…” Ellaria trails off for a moment before continuing, “You’re talking about Gregor Clegane’s brother...Sandor Clegane.”

“Yes,” Sansa nods, “He wasn’t anything like his brother…he was sworn sword to Joffrey and to Cersei…but in the end he was his own man…he deserted because he saw no hope of victory…and he tried to take me with him so that I might escape that horrible place…I was just too frightened to go with him at the time.” Sansa tells her the whole story, the whole thing and by the end Ellaria is silent.

“Then the Clegane brothers were nothing alike,” Ellaria says softly as she strokes Sansa’s hair, “and his brother was an even bigger monster than any of us could have ever imagined.”

“Truly,” Sansa nods, recalling the tale of Sandor’s burned face. She’d told it to Ellaria, who in her disgust and shock at Gregor’s cruelty found herself wanting to weep for Elia, sweet loving Elia who had to suffer such a monster in her final moments.

“So,” Sansa says quietly, “I have issues with men in general.”

“Oberyn will be good to you,” Ellaria says, grateful that Sansa has changed the subject. This poor girl has suffered enough at the hands of the Lannister bastards…and she has seen to many horrors for one not more than eight and ten of age. Her name day would be coming soon, it was a month away and Ellaria wanted to do something nice for Sansa.

“I’m sure he will,” Sansa says softly, “but sometimes I can’t fight the panic.”

“Then we may want to ensure there are no stray animals nearby,” Ellaria smirks a little, earning a laugh from Sansa.

“No,” Sansa agrees, “least I turn into a bird and fly out the window.”

“That would be a first for him, I assure you,” Ellaria laughs, “That a woman would turn into a bird and fly out the window to escape him…most of the time they are fighting to get into his bed, not out of it.”

“I would probably stay long enough just to see the shock on his face before I flew away I suppose,” Sansa laughs.

“Oh,” Ellaria smiles, kissing Sansa’s knuckles lightly, “you and I will do just fine together…we will keep our beloved on his toes I think.”

 _Beloved_ …he wasn’t really her beloved…but Sansa didn’t try to correct her. She could barely stand letting him keep her warm save for that one night on the ship. The other times he touched her were in the water and while she didn’t object to it…it was a foreign feeling…his touch was warm and firm and it made her stomach flutter oddly even if he did nothing inappropriate. Maybe she wasn’t scared of him…but she was intimidated by his experience. Ellaria was gentler than Oberyn, less forceful. Oberyn had this look in his eyes, his eyes were so intense they made her stomach flip oddly in her stomach and she found it hard to get words out correctly.

“Don’t run away from him,” Ellaria tells her gently, “let him close to you…trust him just a little…you will see…he will be good to you.”

 

* * *

 

               Somewhere far, far away into the north Jon Snow lies face down in a pool of his own blood.  His body is being lifted from the snow, carted onto a wooden wagon and led away to a damp cave. Jon follows as only he can inside Ghost, the enormous white direwolf sticking to the shadows. He is in a state of panic but doesn’t know what to do, his mind is a whirl of thoughts and he can’t sort out how to act upon them.

_They’ve taken my body…what are they doing with it?_

He thinks to himself, is irritated by his limitations as a direwolf.  He can no longer defend himself with a sword, and whilst being a direwolf is useful for the icy cold of winter and his sharp teeth and claws will protect him from other wild animals, men were still dangerous too him. They had swords and bows, they had fire and armor.  He follows them for what seems like miles and miles of dark damp land, heavy trees laden with ice and snow, the brisk cold wind chilling the caravan as it silently delves deeper into the forest. They reach a cave near dawn, the icy cold light of a new day shimmering through the trees. Jon sticks lower to the ground now, using his white fur to blend in with his surroundings. He can feel that he is slipping now; he’s been inside Ghost for too long. He has to fight it he thinks, he has to try and control the wolf he’s currently occupying. He can’t warg back out of Ghost…if he does he’ll die. His body is dead and warging out meant…he had no idea where he’d go if he tried. He thinks maybe he can warg into another body perhaps, maybe into another animal for a time.

Maybe another person?

He wasn’t sure if he could warg out to be honest. He felt trapped in Ghost’s body, in a way that he’s never felt trapped before. They carry his body down into the cave and he follows, quiet as he is capable. He can’t go very far in he thinks, there are too many men and he was only one direwolf. He finds a good view though on an overhanging ledge, drops to his belly and crawls into the darkest part of the ledge he can find. He has to be silent, as quiet as he possibly can be if he doesn’t want to be seen. He watches them, these strange men muttering strange words as they lay his body out on the ground near a great roaring bonfire in the center of the room. He hears what they’re saying but it makes no sense, an older man kneeling before Jon’s broken body and placing his hand on his head.

“Mind what happens,” Jon hears one of the men say, “remember what happened when you brought back Lady Stark.”

“Lady Stoneheart,” the other says quietly, “she has a right to vengeance…her family was slaughtered.”

“But that’s not the same Caitlyn Stark who’d been murdered and you know it…she’s…changed.” The other replies and Jon isn’t sure he’d heard him right. Lady Stark was alive? He’d heard she’d been murdered…

“ _Quiet_ ,” says the one whose hand is pressed to Jon’s forehead, “Let me focus.”

They all fall silent, the circle of men who gather to watch their leader, the man in the center red in the face as he struggles with some unseen force. “Something’s not right…” he murmurs allowed, “something feels….wrong.” Suddenly his eyes snap open and he jerks his hand away from Jon’s body, his mouth forming the words in a soft whisper, “ _Oh no_.”

Jon watches in disbelief as his eyes snap open and he sits up. Jon isn’t sure what to think, considering _he_ is over _here_ on this ledge while his body apparently has ideas of its own.

The one who isn’t Jon is currently blinking, gasping for air and coughing. He inhales air like a man starved for it, rubs his face clean of snow and ice and stares around the room. “Where am I?” The not-Jon asks aloud, looking groggy and disoriented.

“Your safe here,” says one man, “the Lord of Light has seen fit to bring you back from the dead Jon Snow.”

The not-Jon looks around, blinking at the mens faces who scrutinize him curiously before he answers, “Well…it’s good to be back.”


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa explores Sunspear and she and Ellaria discuss politics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

Sansa has discovered the city life. She convinces Ellaria to take her to the village below Sunspear and let her explore. Soon they would all be moving on to the water gardens, so Sansa wants to see everything she can before they leave. They walk arm in arm through the city, Oberyn trailing not far behind them. He likes to talk to the merchants and visit old friends, or so Ellaria explains to her as they walk.

“He knows them all I think,” she tells Sansa softly, “he is a good prince. He is interested in his people and what goes on in the villages.”

It’s hot that day, and Sansa is grateful for the light breeze that caresses the skin on the back of her neck. She’s braided her hair back and down over one shoulder, hoping that it would make it a little cooler but the thickness of her hair and the thickness of the braid seem to just make it worse.

“You look so miserable my love,” Ellaria notes, “would you like to find somewhere cool to rest?”

“I’m fine,” Sansa waves it off lightly, “I just need to adjust to the heat like Myrcella said.”

As it was the gown she wore was thin and revealing, baring her arms and lower back and even a little bit of the hollow place between her breasts, something she at first was a little alarmed about until Ellaria wrapped a lovely gold chain about her neck, decorated with pale white pearls to disguise it a little. Sansa liked the gold chain circlet that decorated her hair too, a single pale pearl matching her necklace resting at the top of her forehead. She looked like a princess she thinks, and often times she must remind herself that she is no princess…but a _queen_.

When she walked she had to restrain the urge to hold the side of her gown closed, Ellaria thought this slightly amusing. Sansa wasn’t used to being so bared to the world, the slit in her gown rose up mid-thigh and stopped but Sansa felt like she was nearly half-naked in the street.

“You will be grateful for such clothes,” Ellaria reminds her, “it might be hot right now but wait till it is _true_ summer.”

Summer was starting to fade in Dorne, and the heat wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been. _Winter is coming_ , or so Sansa whispered to herself sometimes in the evenings when she stood on the balcony of her bed chamber and stared up at the stars.

“What are you thinking about?” Ellaria asks as they walk and Sansa smiles at her softly.

“The north,” Sansa says softly, “you know…if I marry him he’d be my consort.”

“He is not so bad a man to have as your consort, believe me,” Ellaria laughs, “you _want_ him as your consort.”

“Are all the stories true?” Sansa asks as she gazes upon the handsome dornishmen who is currently now ahead of them, walking languidly through the streets of the village. He is fit and trim and tall…something Sansa noticed the moment she saw him. He is clever and cunning and witty, something she discovered she liked in men, something Tyrion himself had. She supposes that’s why she liked Tyrion as such a good friend, she liked his clever wit.  Margarey once taught her that everyone has a type…some women like tall men…short men…some liked witty men or strong men…it really depended on the person. Margarey herself was fond of tall lithe men, men who could make her laugh. Sansa was fond of seeing Margarey laugh, Margarey was beautiful when she smiled…she could have lit up a room with that smile.

“Which ones?” Ellaria says, her gazing following Sansa’s.

“The ones about Oberyn…the one’s about his childhood and his life,” Sansa asks curiously.

“Most of them…but some are exaggerated of course…” Ellaria shrugs.

“He’s a skilled warrior,” Sansa muses, “Strong…smart…a good leader…though he is a little hot headed and quick to act,” Sansa says thoughtfully.

“That is why _you_ will wear the crown and not he,” Ellaria points out, “and yes…he is quick to act before thinking it through…but Oberyn has had years to think it through…and he always comes to the same conclusion…though I think you know to which I refer.” Ellaria tells her, watching Myrcella walk with Trystane a ways ahead. They had to watch what they said around the young woman, Ellaria did not trust her. Especially not after what Cersei had done to Sansa.

“It is something to consider though,” Sansa murmurs, “If I take a consort we must work as a team…one cannot hold a throne when at odds with the ones closest to them.” _The Targaryens had taught her that_ , Sansa thinks to herself.

“If he should object to any decisions you make he will tell you…but if you are determined he won’t fight you on it for very long. He will make his case but if you do not agree he will not push you,” Ellaria shrugs, “His brother is the same way with him. He will bring a cause to his brother and if Doran doesn’t agree, Oberyn will let it go.”

“I think he's hardly let it go,” Sansa murmurs quietly under her breath to Ellaria.

“True,” Ellaria agrees just as quietly, “but Oberyn is smart…and _very_ patient. He will wait as long as he needs to.”

Her words remind Sansa of something Ellaria said about vipers back on the ship. Sansa frowns at this and glances at Ellaria, silently wondering now if there was some underlying plot Sansa knew nothing about.

“My ladies,” Oberyn says as he returns to them, giving a short and polite little bow that makes Sansa’s stomach flutter lightly. He offers an arm to each of them and they take it, Sansa on his right and Ellaria on his left. “I have found a place for us to dine for lunch…my favorite place mind you,” he tells Sansa, “and I will introduce you to _real_ dornish food.”

               They eat at the top of one of the sand colored buildings, every home and house and establishment was built from dried mud that never seemed to falter. Sansa silently worried about it, but even rain doesn’t seem to dampen the strength of these buildings. Dornish craftsmanship as Oberyn called it was the best in the seven kingdoms. They eat spice foods, sweetened with honey and herbs. Dragon peppers, Sansa discovers are not her favorite, as she hurries to quench the burn with a mouth full of dornish wine. They laugh and talk for a while, Oberyn spoons a bit of green sauce spiced with herbs and honey onto a piece of soft honey bread for her to try, which she does and finds that much more palatable. The north was known for roasted food, good beer and a warm hearth.

               Oberyn comments on this occasionally, says the food is too bland for his taste but he does enjoy the beer and the warm hearth. Northern people made for good company he tells her, and Sansa nods in agreement.

“We have good music too,” she reminds him as she snakes a piece of food off his plate. She’s taken to doing that, it’s become comfortable for her. They all try something off each other’s plates that way they can get a taste of everything. “I know every dance they have in the north and even some of the southern ones too.”

“You will teach me some of them sometime I hope,” he smiles at her, “and then I will teach you how to dance the dornish way.”

 

* * *

 

               Jon Snow was currently baffled. He watches the not-Jon walk around in his body and talk with his voice and he can’t help but feel a little robbed. He follows his imposter along the ledge, watches him leave the cave.

Let’s see how he handles _this_ …

Jon thinks, diving down from the ledge and dropping down to the ground, darting past him and out of the cave. The men cry out, some pull their swords but his imposter raises his hand, “wait! It’s alright…it’s just Ghost, he’s my direwolf.”

Jon paces to and fro in the distance, mimics what he remembers seeing Ghost do from time to time. His imposter walks towards him, calling him gently, a smile on his lips, “Come here ghost…come here boy.” He could take this and run with it he thinks, he could pretend to be Ghost and go along with it and follow his imposter until he figure out who he really is. He is not anticipating however, the bone cold hand on his head or the silent footsteps that creep up beside him. She is as silent as the direwolf he currently occupies, her harrowed and pale face gazing down upon him.

_Lady Stark…_

She is nothing like he remembers her; she is no longer beautiful nor warm. She is a corpse on its feet, a jagged and horrible line of stiches along her throat.

“Lady Stark,” he hears his imposter say and glances towards him, restraining the urge to growl at this would be Jon Snow.

She hardly speaks a word as she approaches his imposter, stares at him a long while before saying in a voice hardly recognizable and barely audible, “Jon Snow…I do not go by such a name anymore…I am simply known as Lady Stoneheart now.”

               It was bizarre to watch the transaction between them, and Jon wanted more than anything to warn Lady Stark that his imposter was most definitely _not_ him. His imposter, the _not-Jon_ as he’s taken to thinking of him as, continues walking towards him after Lady Stoneheart takes her leave of him. Jon can see the weariness in Stoneheart’s eyes and that pleases him for some reason. Someone, someone has finally noticed something is _wrong_.  She watches his imposter thoughtfully while his back is turned and then looks directly at himself. Jon meets her gaze from across the distance and then she turns away and retreats into the cave.

“Come here Ghost…it’s alright boy…nobody will hurt you. Come out of there you silly beast,” his imposter calls to him.

Jon creeps forward, watches his imposter wearily before approaching him. His imposter rubs him between his ears and smiles, speaking warm sentiments before urging him to follow him back into the cave. A few days go by and in the evening Jon sits up on the ledge, no longer needing to hide from view he lets the glimmer of the fire reflect against his pale fur. His imposter is asleep in another part of the cave, but not everyone is asleep.  He’s taken to listening to the conversations at hand, he wants to know if this was planned or if it was an accident and luckily he finds out which.

“Thoros…you know something is wrong,” says one man to another quietly as they stand by the fire.

“His direwolf recognizes him,” Thoros says thoughtfully, “maybe I was wrong…maybe it is Jon Snow.”

“Thoros…I saw your face when you brought him back….what _happened_?” demands the other nervously.

“I remember feeling something…odd….a strange sensation…like Jon Snow was barred from me. I couldn’t pull him into his body for some reason…and then I felt it loosen and suddenly someone was coming but I couldn’t figure out _who_. At first I thought it was Jon…and when he got closer I could feel his spirit…it wasn’t right…the spirit didn’t match up to the body…it felt….wrong. When I bring them back I feel their deaths…I see how they die and that’s how I know I’ve got the right person. However…when Jon came back…I saw war…and blood…and water….I remember horses trampling dead grass and then water, rushing over me…my own blood in the water…agony…my body was in agony….and then…nothing.”

“Jon Snow was stabbed to death…” the other says nervously…. “He didn’t die in battle.”

“I know…so this man…this man is someone else…pretending to be Jon.” Thoros frowns thoughtfully as he gazes into the fire, “The question is though…if he’s an imposter then _where_ the hell is Jon Snow?”

 

 

* * *

 

               They laugh together in the great hall of Sunspear, the evening moonlight pouring in through wide open doors on either side of the hall. Sansa and Myrcella swing through a turn, arm in arm as they demonstrate a happy gig of the south for Oberyn and his family. Ellaria and Trystane have joined in, giving them an equal pairing for the dance. Myrcella loves to dance and sing as well, as is demonstrated when she performs a duet with Sansa for the family later.  Right now though, they dance…and eventually the dancing gets a little exciting. Dornish wine helps it along, laughter and good company makes it even better.

Sansa has never felt so safe and so free in years as Oberyn teaches her a dornish dance, one where they never touch one another but dance closely, hands never touching, shoulders nearly brushing but never any real contact. It is a seductive dance, it is enticing and actually a lot of fun for anyone involved.  As they dance she finds she wants to kiss him, she wonders if that is the wine talking or the dance seducing her. Myrcella thinks him handsome but not her type, she thinks he’s much too old for her tastes. Being a young lady of a whole ten and four, Sansa figured Myrcella would figure things out for herself when she was older. Sansa knew that when she was Myrcella’s age, Oberyn wouldn’t have been attractive to her either, but then again…she was a bit of an idiot when she was younger.

              

* * *

 

               Oberyn walks Sansa to her rooms later that evening, she sways a little from the drink and he fears she might hurt herself if she went alone. He scolds himself mentally for not warning her of the drink; it is much stronger in Dorne than it is in Westeros. A glass or two (which was all Sansa had) would have been enough for anyone not used to the drink to be somewhat intoxicated by it. She is beautiful this evening, clothed in a gown of her own design, made by the royal tailors. It was sea green with golden flowers embroidered into the material; they shimmered like gold in the torchlight. Her auburn hair was braided up onto her head, decorated in gold chains and pearls, leaving her soft pale neck exposed to the cool night air. He recognized desire when he saw it, and he saw it in her eyes tonight. Desire for what, he wasn’t certain, but he would not dare ask right now anyways.

               The drink was in her head, and drink loosens tongues and inhibitions immensely. Maybe another time, when she was sober. Maybe if she looked upon him like that without the interference of drink he might ask her about it, but for now he would see her safely to her room and that was all.

“I wasn’t aware of how strong the drink was,” Sansa muses aloud as they walk.

“Forgive me,” he says in reply, “I should have warned you.”

“It’s fine,” Sansa smiles faintly, a happy glow in her cheeks. She looked so serene walking with him like this, and though it might be just the wine making her seem that way, he hoped he could make her glow like that without it. Sansa has spent weeks here now, weeks in which he has come to understand part of the puzzle that makes Sansa who she is. She is nervous around him, he realizes that and it isn’t anything he’s done, it’s what others have done to her in the past. It stirs an old bitter rage against the Lannisters to see her like that, to see such a beautiful woman fear him because of something the Lannisters had done to her. She trusts Ellaria though, enough that it seemed like Ellaria was courting her instead of him…which Ellaria found amusing and liked to tease him about when they were alone.

At least he didn’t need to worry about them not getting along anymore.

He wondered what she would be like if she were to be truly happy here. Would she glow like the summer sun, her hair like ringlets of fire? He wondered if she’d ever trust him enough to really know her, to enjoy him the way she enjoys Ellaria. He knew she had worries, the crown atop her head was a heavy one, he can see the worry in her eyes when her mind drifts. Their children would be her heirs, and for her to take him to husband, it was a heavy decision. He would give her all the children she could ever want, he knew that. He would be her consort in all things if she’d let him, though Sansa has proven herself stubborn at times, determined to do everything herself. It would take a while to fix things with her home, to retake the north would be to call in her claim, to summon her bannermen to her, to pick up the winter crown and call herself queen. He would help her in this is she would let him, but first they must trust each other.

               They reach her rooms and he smiles, kissing her knuckles lightly before releasing her. She bids him goodnight and he watches her disappear into her bed chambers, closing the door soundlessly behind her. When he returns to his own bedchambers Ellaria is asleep there, so he strips off his clothes and crawls into bed beside her, cradling his lover against him. He wonders if someday Sansa might let him do the same with her, if she might rest warmly beside him as well. He would like that he thinks, to have two beautiful, wonderful women at his side who he might call his.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Tyene meet properly and Sansa is feeling brave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

In the early morning they search for him. Thoros confessed his mistake to Lady Stoneheart and she sent a group of the men to arrest the imposter.

“Well the direwolf is still here,” comments one to another, “so that must mean it’s figured out that the boy wasn’t his master.”

Jon watches the group search the cave and paces anxiously. He must have snuck out in the middle of the night, and now that imposter was running lose with his face. He could do a lot of damage with that face, especially since the men on the wall think he’s dead and if they were to see him alive and well again it might cause….panic. Furthermore, he has no idea who the person is behind the reigns, and now he has to track his imposter out into the frozen winter of the north. He leaves the men, as silent as Ghost always was and tracks the fading scent of his imposter for miles. He is headed south wherever he’s going. His scent fades though, and after a while Jon is too tired to keep going. He’s lost track of himself, and that’s humiliating to admit. Lately he’s been hungry, even more so than normal. He’d hunt and eat but it wasn’t enough it seemed, he knew he was losing control of the direwolf. If he stayed like this much longer he was going to forget himself, and then things would really get out of control. Already he felt his instincts being pulled in two different directions, one set of instincts that of human origin, his desire to find his imposter, a desire to get his body back…but the other….he was _hungry_ …and he wanted to return to the mountains.

               He’d caught himself a time or two stalking prey without even realizing he was doing it at first, a great plump buck walking through the woods, he was practically salivating he was so hungry. He craved the taste of blood and flesh between his teeth, and the longer he lingered on such thoughts, the harder it became to focus on the task at hand.

He knew he was done for if he didn’t get his body back soon.

 

* * *

 

               They arrive at the Water Gardens in the wake of a sandstorm. Sansa has never been in a sandstorm before but it reminding achingly so of a blizzard. They’d traverses on horseback to the royal apartments, and Sansa wasn’t a very good rider to begin with. They were struck by the storm without warning, half-way to the Water Gardens towards the middle of the day. Sansa was nearly thrown from her horse in the chaos of it, until Oberyn’s steady hand shot out and grabbed hold of her reigns, holding her horse close to his while the others grouped together so nobody would be separated. They urged the group towards the beach and away from the higher ground, following the shoreline instead of taking the usual road to the Water Gardens.

               When they reached the Water Gardens, Sansa thought she was gazing upon a mirage in the middle of a desert, her hair and clothes were crumbled and covered in sand. Most of her hair had been pulled free of its braids in the wind, and her auburn locks hang down around her face and near to her waist. They were all ushered inside while the horses were taken to the stables. Once inside, Sansa could breathe properly. She had to wrap her hair and face up in cloth to keep from inhaling sand most of the way; it had been a combination of sea water and sand being swirled around them as they rode for the gardens.

               Now inside the gardens Sansa was taken to her own bed chamber, a room within Oberyn’s side of the palace. She was pleased with it, as she unpacked her things and neatly put them away. Sansa preferred to do this, as she had no proper hand maiden of her own anymore and the servants didn’t know how Sansa liked her things organized. She bathed afterwards, in a large stone tub in the floor. She thinks she could love bathing like this, the water was hot and fresh and soothed her aching muscles, though she pitied the servants who had to fill and drain it each day.  Afterwards she slept, she hadn’t meant to but her bed had been so comfortable she’d nodded off easily.

               It was near dinner when Ellaria woke her, amusement dancing in her eyes. “You look so tired…would you rather me have them send dinner up to you?”

“I’m not even hungry to be honest,” Sansa says quietly, “I so tired…every inch of my body is aching.”

“It is a struggle in storms like that,” Ellaria nods, “A struggle to stay on your horse, to keep hold of the reigns, to walk in it…”

“To _breath_ in it,” Sansa chuckles faintly against a pillow.

“It won’t be dinner with the family,” Ellaria says softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed and stroking her hair gently, “Just the children and Oberyn and I.”

“I think I might pass,” Sansa murmurs softly, “I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t recall when she falls back to sleep, but later when she wakes again it’s because there is a tiny knock at the door, and a pretty blond haired girl steps in. She looks as pure as snow in a blue cloth gown, decorated in silver stars. She smiles at Sansa and sets a tray of food beside her on the table. “Hello,” the young woman says, “Father asked me to bring you this in case you were hungry.”

“Tyene,” Sansa murmurs as she sits up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, “you must be Tyene.”

“I am,” she nods politely, “how do you like the palace?”

“It’s lovely,” Sansa smiles, running a hand through her tumbled hair to try and straighten it out. It was embarrassing to me talking to Tyene like this when she wasn’t even properly dressed. Sansa reaches for the dinner plate, takes a bite of food while Tyene walks around the room and admires the decorations. Sansa frowns a little at the taste of the food, unsure what it was she was eating. “What is this?”

“It’s scorpion,” Tyene smiles at her innocently, “it’s a delicacy here in Dorne. Did you know…when they cook the scorpion if they don’t cut the venom sac out correctly it could kill whoever eats it within minutes?”

Sansa stops chewing for a split second, knows that Tyene is trying to throw her off and swallows before replying, “Then you must have excellent cooks here.”

“Indeed,” Tyene smiles, never for a moment giving away her secret thoughts to Sansa. Sansa sips at the wine provided and smiles at the pleasant taste. It was like honey and smelled of flowers.  Tyene stands by the window as she watches Sansa, smiling her ever pleasant smile. This façade never fails it seems, and Tyene is a master at it.  Tyene lies back on Sansa’s bed and fiddles with her sleeve cuff, occasionally glancing back at Sansa while she eats. “Do you like the wine?”

“Yes,” Sansa nods, “It’s lovely.”

“I made it myself,” Tyene nods, “I crafted it from herbs and honeyed wine, I figured you would need it.”

“Thank you,” Sansa says, trying not to choke on the fact that Tyene made what she was drinking. Drinking _willingly_ ….and if the stories were true about Tyene….

“I hope you sleep well,” Tyene smiles at her and gets to her feet, “I need to be going now.”

“Goodnight,” Sansa says as she watches Tyene leave. She was torn between throwing everything up immediately or finding a way to turn this game around on Tyene.

               When morning came, Sansa woke to another little _surprise_. It was a bizarre feeling, as she climbed out of bed and tore off her small clothes. She was hideously and absolutely…horribly… _itchy_.

“Send for Ellaria,” she tells the maid servant that morning as they fill her bath, Sansa clawing at her skin as she climbs in. When Ellaria arrives she looks concerned, horrible red rashes are creeping their way up Sansa’s back and arms.

“I must be allergic to something…” Sansa confesses, “I don’t know what it could be.”

Ellaria sends for ointments and the maester. It doesn’t take long for the news to get around and Oberyn makes an appearance near noon, finding Sansa on her stomach, sprawled across her bed while Ellaria smooth’s ointment over her back and thighs.  Sansa is grateful he averts his gaze; she was already turning bright red because her naked backside was bared for all to see.

“How did it happen?” he questions, glancing around the room, “what did you eat Sansa?”

“Just…dinner…” she says, motioning towards the tray.

He examines it carefully, tilting his head to the side as he takes a whiff from the empty wine goblet. “Where did you get all of this? Did one of the servants send it to you?”

“Yes,” Sansa grimaces a little when Ellaria smooth’s over a sore spot. She wasn’t going to tell Oberyn that Tyene had done it, she refused too. She wouldn’t be seen as a coward.  Oberyn doesn’t look convinced though, she can tell. He was good at sniffing out a lie, and she could see that he didn’t believe her for a second. He is silent and thoughtful for a few moments before he leaves with the dinner tray in his hands.

“If you let Tyene get away with this, Oberyn will be even angrier with her later,” Ellaria says softly, “I know you’re trying to hide it from him.”

“I refuse to run to him and tell on Tyene like a child,” Sansa mutters irritably, “If they want to test me…let them test me…I mean none of you any harm.”

“I know that,” Ellaria says gently, kissing her shoulders as she massages the tense knots near her lower back, “but they don’t. They love their Father…they just want to see what you are made of… if you are worthy of him. Though you still shouldn’t let Tyene get away with this.”

_I’m not worthy of him…_

Sansa thinks sadly to herself as Ellaria’s deft fingers slide down to her ankles and feet, massaging them gently. “I will not let her do it again.”

“Good,” Ellaria says softly, “and he’s going to figure out it was Tyene _anyways_.”

 

* * *

 

               The servants hadn’t sent the tray up to her rooms, that much he was certain. Sansa wasn’t a very good liar; he could tell she was lying. She had a way of turning her blue eyes away from his whenever she lied, like she was ashamed of what she was saying to him. He had a feeling he knew who’d done this, and when he finds Tyene (who was conveniently absent from the breakfast table this morning) she was going to apologize to Sansa.

Once he figured out what Tyene had put in Sansa’s wine of course.

               He worked till late afternoon sorting out Tyene’s little scheme. His daughter was mysteriously absent all afternoon and none of the servants could find her. When he visited Sansa later on she was better, the ointments had soothed away the pain and she was sitting under a cloth tent, watching Myrcella and Trystane swim in the pool.  He drops down next to her, and she smiles at him, offering him the bowl of grapes that had been sitting beside her. He takes one and pops it into his mouth, his gaze turning to the two swimming in the pool as he speaks. “I know who did it.”

“Let it go,” Sansa says softly, “She’s just testing me…just as Obara was and I’m not afraid.”

“They _will_ respect you,” he says pointedly, “you are my guest.”

“I am asking you,” she says softly as she takes his hand in hers. He is surprised by the gesture, she has gotten braver lately. He’s pleased by this, pleased to know she’s getting comfortable around him; she’s starting to trust him a little.  “As your guest,” she whispers and her lips ghost over his knuckles, “to let it go.”

“And what will you give me if I do?” he smirks at her slyly, and he sees a brief flash of something across her face. He wants to pull away, thinks he might have overstepped his boundaries when she leans close and presses her warm lips to his cheek. She smells like lemons and fresh flowers, her soft warm lips still against his skin as she whispers, “a kiss.”

He dares to be a little bolder with her, or at least part of him wants to be. He wonders if she’d let him kiss her and turns his face just a fragment, letting his lips slide against hers feather soft. She freezes for a moment until she moves, her lips sliding against his. He lets her guide him, his hand curving to her soft cheek as his tongue brushes against her lips. She yields to it, their tongues sliding against one another and she relaxes beside him, her other hand curling in his dark hair.

               Someone clears their throat and he immediately recognizes that it is Myrcella. Sansa pulls away from him, much too quickly for his liking. She brushes her hair away from her face and smiles at Myrcella, “You must be hungry….they’ve brought lunch for us.”

He watches her, his summer blossom and how she can go from being so bold to being so proper in seconds, how he saw desire and fire in her eyes one moment and then nothing the next.  Myrcella joins them, and they eat lunch, enjoying the warm afternoon sun.

 

 

 


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Oberyn spend some time alone together.
> 
> A/N: This chapter shall contain some serious Sansa/Oberyn smut, just a heads up :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

He sits on an old rotten log, the smell of damp forest surrounding him. He’s nearly out of the snow, the world around him getting warmer mile by mile. He’d stolen a horse from the ones who brought him back, given him another chance at life. He knew it, he’d always knew it…he was meant for this…he was brought back for a reason, he was _chosen_. He’s managed to get a small fire going; his fingers were icy cold as was the tip of his nose and ears. He was grateful to be escaping the bitter north at last; he’d never cared much for the icy forests and mountains of that cold land.

               He stares into the flames thoughtfully, his mind was so disorganized. He had two sets of memories, that of his own and that of the body he is currently occupying. The man was called Jon Snow, he knew that much. Jon Snow was Eddard Stark’s son; he heard the others say to one another around the fire the other night. If he was Eddard’s Stark’s son then he was a bastard, but that made no sense.  Unless of course old Ned had decided to take up with his beloved Ashara Dayne. She had been beautiful, Ashara Dayne…but there was no fire in her, and she was so fragile at times…so _tame_.  

               He needed to eat something, he was starving. He hoped he’d find a town soon…his memories are scattered when it came to the landscape. It has been a long time since he’s set foot in Westeros, so many years ago, and now everything has changed. The people he grew up with have grown old; they have children of their own now. He was back though, just like he was meant to be. He’s known his whole life he was meant for something more, meant for greater things. He would head for the stormlands, he needed to get his barring’s again and needed somewhere peaceful to think. He needed to learn the lay of the land, figure out which families were in power now… find out who was king.

He had a lot of work ahead of him.

 

* * *

 

Sansa stares into the pond in the garden, watching the flower petals float on the water. She lies on her side against the smooth stone bench, her right hand trailing along the water’s surface thoughtfully. She liked kissing Oberyn…alright she _really_ ….liked it. She hadn’t been expecting him to kiss her, and was thrilled that he did. She lost track of everything around her save for the man kissing her, it was like a strange euphoria and she wondered if this was what Margarey meant by what she called _the spark_. She wonders if he’ll do it again, she wouldn’t object to it. Though he was very openly affectionate with her, he didn’t seem to mind Myrcella watching them but she did. Her mother always taught her to mind her behavior in public; such displays of affection in public would often make people uncomfortable, and in proper society one must restrain from such things until they were in the privacies of their bed chambers, and further more should not be done with anyone but their betrothed or their husband.

               Though for him she might be willing to bend the rules. She liked being able to kiss him, and it would probably take her a while to be comfortable doing such things in public. Oberyn was busy in the palace; Ellaria is spending the day with her children in Sunspear so Sansa was alone with her thoughts. She wanders the garden for a little while, admiring the flowers and the plants. Dorne had such beautiful gardens, deep pools of cool water scattered here and there. Finally she makes her way out to the beach front, her long auburn hair loose down her back and the deep blue of her gown fluttering in the ocean breeze. She isn’t standing there for very long until she hears the gallop of horses in the distance, and a crowd of men ride past her, Sansa steps away into the surf, holding her gown up just enough to keep it out of the water as they pass.

               They spare her hardly a glance though Sansa spies one man, a man with hair like moonlight and eyes as bright and as purple as lilacs. He glances at her and then looks away, while Sansa watches the group ride on towards Sunspear. She watches them pass by into the distance, and wonders who and why they were going to Sunspear. As she walks towards the palace she sees Oberyn, standing at the top of the steps of the palace watching the riders, until his gaze turns to her. He motions her over and she obediently goes to him, her arm curling into his when he offers it.

“Who are they?” Sansa asks while they stand on the steps and watch the endless torrent of riders pass by.

“A gathering of men and riders from many parts of the world, they are going to meet my brother in Sunspear.” He explains as Sansa watches the last of them disappear into the distance.

               She doesn’t press the matter, can see the stern look on Oberyn’s face and know this isn’t a topic open for discussion. It wasn’t her place to ask about the matters of Dorne, but she’s never seen anyone with silver hair like the man she’d seen ride past before. Oberyn takes her back inside where they eat lunch before he goes back to his work. She is bored stiff though, and eventually gives into the demands of Myrcella, who wants to go explore the lower levels of the palace.

“Trystane showed me them once,” Myrcella tells her as she reclines on Sansa’s bed, watching Sansa comb out her auburn hair. “You’d love them…most of it is abandoned…they’ve not used those bits of the palace for nearly a century.”

“It probably wouldn’t be wise to go down there then,” Sansa says gently, “Myrcella I know you’re bored…but we shouldn’t go down there alone.”

“We wouldn’t be,” Myrcella presses, “Trystane shall go with us. He’s my betrothed you know… _he’ll_ protect us.”

Sansa has a flashing memory of Joffrey _protecting_ her, and silently worries for the young woman sprawled on her bed. Myrcella has her head in the clouds just like Sansa once did. She hopes for Myrcella’s sake that Cersei introduces Myrcella to the real world less harshly then Cersei did to her. Though Myrcella is still young, Sansa thinks, let her enjoy you childhood.  “Alright,” Sansa says as she sets down her hair brush, “Just this once…and only for a little bit…I don’t want to be anywhere were not allowed to be either Myrcella,” Sansa says pointedly, being reminded of Arya when she wanted Sansa to go search the Ruby Ford with her for rubies from Rhaegar Targaryen’s breast plate.

               Sansa follows Myrcella and Trystane for a while, wandering the unused places of the palace. It’s darker in these halls, the windows and drapes closed tightly. It’s older in this place and it smells old, and it gave Sansa the creeps. While Myrcella and Trystane giggle and run from room to room, Sansa’s pace has slowed to a crawl. She all but stops in the hallway, unable to go any farther. She feels strange in these places, imagining the lives that once went on here, the people who lived and died within these halls, the happiness and the sorrow that happened here. She imagined all the windows thrown open and light pouring from every direction. Happy voices and laughter, people being born here, people living there day to day lives within these walls. At the far end of the room sits an old wooden table, warn from time and thick with dust. Beneath it she notices a shimmer of red light, and walks across the stone floors, lifting the hem of her gown so as not to dirty it in the dust on the floor. On her knees she reaches under the table, prying loose what looked to be a delicately designed ruby ring. Turning it over in her palm the design was all but worn away, but clearly the metal was valerian steel. Fixated upon the ring she walks through the halls, admiring the walls and exploring the different rooms all while turning the ring over in her palm again and again idly. 

She doesn’t even realize they’ve left her there, or that she’s alone in the hall. Trystane and Myrcella have wandered off, and now she is left to find her way back alone. It doesn’t take her long, she catches up to Myrcella and Trystane at the center stairwell, Trystane sighing in relief when he sees her.

“She’s here Uncle,” he says as he points to Sansa, “I’m sorry…I hadn’t realized she wasn’t following us.”

“You know better than to go into the abandoned parts of the palace Trystane,” Oberyn scolds lightly as Sansa approaches them.

“I’m sorry,” Sansa says softly, “Trystane promised me they wouldn’t go very far.”

“We didn’t,” Trystane presses, “We stayed on the first level; we never went any farther I promise Uncle.”

Oberyn excuses the two younger children before approaching Sansa, brushing a stray auburn curl away from her face, “These parts of the palace are old and unused…it is probably best to keep out of them,” he explains, sliding a finger down across her cheek gently. He kisses her and it surprises her, tilting her chin up to meet his kiss with one of her own. He slides his hand around her waist and pulls her flush up against him, her right hand sliding up to rest on his chest. She relaxes against him, his warm mouth sliding against her, one hand resting warmly on her waist and the other cupping her cheek, his fingers curling into her hair.

“It’s like were being _punished_ …” Trystane whispers to Myrcella with mild disgust as the two watch the couple kissing at the top of the stairs.

 

* * *

 

               In the following weeks that have more moments like that, one of which found Sansa pressed into an alcove, hidden away from the world while his warm lips and hands sooth away the chill in the palace, her fingers and toes were icy cold when he’d found her, winter was steadily getting closer to Dorne. Her Mother had once warned her never to let a man get to far, they were warm against each other, and Sansa liked the feel of his warm body against hers, pressing her against the stone wall behind her. It was getting heated now, his hands sliding over her breasts, cupping them lightly. Sansa has to bite back a moan, Oberyn was a passionate man and that was only going to throw fuel on the fire. If she let this go on any farther she worried he’d get the wrong idea. She breaks the kiss and is breathing as heavily as he is, resting her forehead against his shoulder. “Good morning,” she smiles against his shoulder.

“Good morning,” he laughs a little, his arms still curled around her, sliding up and down her back. He was so warm and she really didn’t want to be parted from him just yet. If she broke away from him like she knows she should probably do, he might get the wrong idea….but if she kept standing here she’d stay nice and warm….it was such a difficult decision right now.

“Would you hold me?” Sansa murmurs quietly.

“I thought I was holding you,” he smiles, pressing her closer to him.

“I mean…I’m _cold_ …it’s so cold…and you’re so _warm_. I like…this…what we’re doing right now. I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea….I’m not …I don’t really want…” she stammers now and it’s turning her ears bright pink.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want too,” he murmurs as he presses a kiss to her ear, “and besides that my summer blossom…if we are ever to wed you must remain chaste until then. Though it doesn’t mean I can’t hold you if that’s what you want.”

“I want that,” she says softly and rests her head on his shoulder, marveling in his warmth. They eventually end up in his private apartments, and she curls up against him on his bed, burrowed against his warmth. This was his one day off and Sansa intended to use it. She has hardly seen him lately, he’s been going back and forth to Sunspear for days now, sometimes not returning until the following day. Whatever was going on had something to do with those riders, she wasn’t allowed to leave the Water Gardens for now, Oberyn had requested she stay there for her own safety.

               She curls against his side and lays her head upon his chest, her eyes heavy and half-lidded in the fading afternoon light. Ellaria would be back soon, she was with her children again today. Ellaria was supposed to have been here today with Sansa but she mysteriously suddenly had to go to Sunspear. She thinks Oberyn had something to do with it, or that Ellaria thought they needed to be alone together for a while. Either way, Sansa was content laying there with him among the pillows and warm blankets. He strokes her hair, and kisses her half closed eyelids, her head sliding back against the pillows as he presses kisses all over her face and neck.

               Her body feels hot and flushed as he touches her, warm hands cupping her breasts and sliding down over her waist and hips. In a flash she curls her fingers in his hair and pulls him gently back up to her, pressing her lips against his mouth and sliding her tongue against his, unable to keep the moan from bubbling up out of her at the feel of his hand sliding up under her small clothes, gently stroking the skin of her bare thigh. It makes her want _more_ , for what…Sansa was fairly certain she understood _what_ she wanted…it was the simple fact that she couldn’t have it right now. His fingers slide against the skin of her inner thigh, stroking and swirling in tender patterns. She wanted more…more…damnit…just _more_.

“Your body sings for me,” he murmurs against the soft skin of her breast, his lips hot against the cloth covering her right nipple. She gasps when his hand slides against her flower, stroking and teasing her. “So wet for me…” he murmurs, as his forefinger strokes the swollen heat of her flower, pressing against the apex of her thighs. It stings a little; she is unused to the intrusion. The feeling of his hand pushing and pulling, curling inside her and stroking something amazing, some bright spark inside her that makes her feel like she might just burn, her fingers curling into his tunic as they seek out bare skin. She curls her fingers into the light feathering of dark hair on his chest, her teeth nipping at his beard and chin until he kisses her again, sliding his tongue against hers a little more forcefully, more passionately than he’d done before.

               She was winding so tight, her mind was solely fixated on the motion of his hand, his thumb stroking against the tiny cluster of nerves between her legs, her hips rocking against his fingers. His kisses were rougher, desperate, sliding along her neck and shoulders, the ties of her small clothes parting just enough so that his warm lips can nip at the soft bare skin of her breast, winding her body even tighter until she gasps, stars in her eyes and the world tips on its axis.  He kisses her, swallows her cries of passion with rough kisses, passionate kisses that are consuming and intoxicating. She is trembling afterwards, her body shaking as he pulls her close, licks the taste of her from his finger while she watches, her pupils dilating upon the sight of it. It makes her want him again, want him to touch her like that again, makes her want… _more_.

               She can feel him as he shifts against her, hard and warm and she isn’t sure what to do about it. It wouldn’t be right she thinks, to leave him like this when he’d done so much for her. She slides her fingers along the waist of his breeches, her lips pressing warm open mouth kisses against the bare skin of his chest. They were lying on their sides, facing each other as she pushes his tunic open farther, so she can get at the skin of his nipple, catching it between her teeth lightly. He hisses aloud and she smiles against his skin, his fingers curling in her hair as he pulls her head back gently to kiss her. She pulls at the ties of his breeches and he stills her hand with his free one, pulling back enough to look at her.

“I would not ask that of you,” he says gently, pressing kisses against her forehead and her cheeks, “That must wait.”

She nods, doesn’t fight him on it even though she feels guilty about leaving him in such a state. He kisses her until she falls asleep before going into the other room to change out of his clothes and into a sleeping tunic…apart from taking care of other issues. He took care to be quiet about that, he could see that Sansa felt guilty about it but he dared not risk going quite that far just yet, with her he wanted to wait till they wed, he wanted Sansa to be certain of her decision.

               When he returns to her he gathers her into his arms and falls asleep himself, only to stir once when Ellaria climbs into bed with them, smirking at him as she curls up against Sansa. Sansa stirs only a little, burrows deeper into the blankets between the two of them and quickly falls back to sleep. She is warm right now, warm and comfortable and she thoroughly intends to enjoy it.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa wants back into the game and Jon struggles with being a wolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

Jon Snow has faced many difficulties in his life but none were greater than what he currently faced now.  He fidgets as he walks, ducking through overgrowth any chance he gets. If he is seen by someone they’ll surely try to kill him. How did Ghost always find him anyways? Maybe he and Ghost are connected? Then if he and Ghost are connected, why can’t he find his body? It was an endless circle of questions, and Jon was been going round and round with them for hours now. He lets out a muffled whine and stops, his left hind leg clawing at his flank as best he can manage. He refuses to chew on his backside for the sake of stopping the itch.

 _Fleas_.

               If he’d known Ghost had fleas he might have done something about it long ago. Now he feels sorry for the poor beast, whom he is currently trapped inside. Ghost, where he was is probably as cross as he is about the whole situation too. He turns in a circle after a while, gazing around the forest. His next problem, the inability to climb a tree and figure out where he is. Jon was good with the land as a human, but as a wolf he was lost. He was frustrated now, he was certain this way led towards the road. As he walks, he hears howling, freezing mid-step. He doesn’t know what to do at first, thinks maybe he should answer but then again…he wasn’t a wolf…at least not a real one.

               He thinks he’s being followed now, and picks up the pace. The branches and twigs farther in the force snap with the force of someone or something keeping pace with him. It is then that he seems them, following their leader, who was a great dark wolf, bright eyes piercing the dark of the wood as she looks upon Jon.

 _Nymeria_.

Jon is so happy to see her he could have wept, though as a wolf he had no idea how that worked. Nymeria comes closer, pressing her nose to his flank which he found very odd. He turns away and she growls, her tail held high and her muzzle lifted. Jon isn’t sure what he’s doing, he has no idea how to communicate with other wolves. He drops his tail and his head, watches Nymeria relax and then follows her back towards her pack. He might as well stick with them for a while; it was better than being alone in these woods and not know where he was.

               They run through the woods and he has to try and keep up with them. It isn’t hard; he’s bigger than all the wolves in this pack save for Nymeria, who he runs just behind with near the front of the pack.  Nymeria is intelligent, he can see it in her eyes and sometimes she reminds him of Arya. She seems to recognize something was going on with him, she might even know that he was not truly Ghost. They run for miles and miles, and he wonders if they ever stop. Snow was drifting in flakes down upon the land now; winter was getting closer and closer. Even this far north, near the southern border he could see snow coating the land in a thin sheet, the first snow fall of winter.

               They stop for the night, high up in the mountains. The pack curls together, pressing against each other for warmth. Jon doesn’t know how this works so he hopes Nymeria won’t mind him sleeping with her. She doesn’t seem to, though he imagines because she is the alpha he needs to still grant her the respect she deserves, least the other wolves think he is challenging her. He isn’t cold though, between being pinned between two smaller wolves and Nymeria he’s actually very warm out in the bitter cold of night in the mountains.

               _When he dreams though, he dreams of walking as a man. He dreams of tall rolling hills of green grass still untouched by winter, of towns and people he’s never met and food he hasn’t eaten.  He can see himself in the mirror and his face smiles back at him, a wash basin before him as he washes the dirt from his hair and off his face and body.  He’s not partial to the clothes though, whoever had stolen his body wore different clothes now, better armor than he’s ever owned in his whole life. When he sits down he’s talking to someone he doesn’t know. The man pushes something wrapped in leather skins towards him, something he thought might be a sword…_

He wakes up with a start; Nymeria was nipping at his flank to get him up. The pack was leaving, and he was sleeping in. He follows them groggily, not even paying attention to where they were going. They hunt and run and play for miles down the road, the playing was a little weird for him, and he wasn’t worried about playing right now. Nymeria stays close to him; he can sense her unease about something. He spends hours of the time recalling people’s names. Names of his family members, the peoples he’s met, the names of the plants and trees of the forest as he passes them. He doesn’t want to forget them but he feels like he’s starting to.

 

* * *

 

               Somewhere across Westeros in the ruins of an old palace, he dreams of being a wolf. It was a little bizarre for him, dreaming of being a wolf. He has learned things from his confidant, a confidant who thinks him Jon Snow and nothing more. This boy, this body belonged to him in a way he had no idea. It explains why he was able to take hold of it, he took it through blood. He’d heard stories of how the red priests could bring people back from the dead. Though that meant that this boy, wherever he was now is dead and he has taken that boys place. Maybe that was the way it was meant to be, maybe through the boy’s death he is reborn into this world as the _lightbringer_. He doesn’t understand why or how he is here, but he will fix the mess he has caused. His confidant updated him, though had no idea who he was truly speaking too or what was really going on.

               In his dreams he is running with a wolf pack, he was a direwolf just like the wolf he runs with, just like _Ghost_. He was Ghost, he was sure that’s what he was now. He was hunting and running and….he was lost. He was so _lost_ , wandering the wilderness with wolves who didn’t feel like family, wolves that he ran with just to have someone with him. He is miserable but determined; he is searching for something…something he has lost.

               He wakes to the morning sunlight bright in his face, and groans loudly as he rolls off the fur pelt he uses as a bed. Shoving off the blankets he stands and stretches, his back aches from sleeping on the cold stone floor. This place was the only place he could hide in, the one place in the world he found true peace. He wanders the broken and empty corridors in thought, nibbling on a piece of cooked salt beef he’d brought with him from the inn a few nights ago. He told his confidant he’d wait here; this was the last place anyone would be looking for Jon Snow anyways.

               His hair is dark and the scruff on his face is dark as well, it’s odd coloring that he isn’t used too. He stares at his reflection in the old and abandoned pond out front, a pond that rainwater had gathered in over time. The water smelt stale and old, he had no plans on drinking from it.  So this was the boy then, the boy he’d dreamt of. It was a shame he would never properly meet him, he hoped the boys spirit rested peacefully wherever he was.  He had scars on his chest and his shoulders, marks of the life as a crow as the wildlings called them, and he wonders how on earth Jon Snow ended up on the wall. Jon Snow was never meant to be on the wall, that was not what he’d ever intended for the young man at all. His plans didn’t fall into place though, and everything fell through. He’d lost everything that day because of a madman’s obsession with a woman who didn’t care for him.

               He might need to trim his hair back, or at least grow it out. As it was he couldn’t pull it back and when he let it down it hung down into his eyes. His hair was a wild mass of black curls, his eyes as dark as pitch. He was a handsome young man, which was a plus he supposed. Though right now he has more important things on his mind than considering his appearance.

 

* * *

 

               It’s colder now, and Sansa’s gowns were made thicker because of it. They still had the elegant beauty Sansa became used too, but she was grateful to have a few more layers on her. Oberyn was at Sunspear and Ellaria stayed to keep her company.

“Come away from the balcony Sansa,” she calls lightly, “when he is ready you will know what’s going on.”

“Oh?” Sansa says, quirking an eyebrow at her, “and do _you_ know what’s going on?”

“Yes,” Ellaria says as she braids Loreza’s hair, “but I am forbidden to speak of it.”

“ _Forbidden_ ,” Sansa says, rolling that word around in her mouth while Ellaria finishes Loreza’s hair.

Ellaria shoots her a look and then sends Loreza on her way before looking at Sansa, “It is not a command, but a request.”

“Yet he uses the word _forbidden_ ,” Sansa muses aloud.

“Don’t judge him for it,” Ellaria says as Sansa takes up the hairbrush Ellaria leaves on the bed and begins to brush out her own hair. “Oberyn is not one for giving commands unless he must. In this case he must…this is important for Dorne.”

“Who was he then,” Sansa presses, “I saw him…he had silver hair…and eyes like lilacs…I’ve never seen anyone like that before,” she says thoughtfully.

“That,” Ellaria tells her with a soft smile, “is someone important…but you will meet him later I imagine, once all the arrangements are made.”

“Arrangements?” Sansa quirks an eyebrow.

“It’s a long story…let’s just say they have family visiting…and I wasn’t supposed to tell you that so don’t mention it to Oberyn or _anyone_.” Ellaria tells her pointedly.

Oberyn had been so busy lately, Ellaria was sworn to silence and the whole household seems to be on edge. Something was going on, and she was the queen in the north…she had a right to know.  So she was being a little nosy she imagined, but she wanted to know. She complained of feeling sick and excused herself to her own bed chambers, a plan forming in her head.

               She sits on her balcony, and focuses on a bird down in the garden below. She’s never managed it at will before, tries to summon up the desires she felt when it did happen. A need to escape, a need to fly, to reach out and soar above the heights of the palace…she needs…needs….. _yes_.

   She is flying, flapping her little wings as hard as she can; the palace below her is but a golden shimmering diamond in the vast sea of sands around it. She reaches Sunspear faster than any horse could have, and drops down on the railing in the garden where she sees people gathering. Arianne Martell she thinks, though she’s never actually met her yet, is very beautiful.

“He is our cousin,” she tells Quentyn thoughtfully, “he is very handsome.”

“I doubt Father would let you wed him yet,” he replies, “Father is weary of him.”

“Father doesn’t think he is who he claims to be?” Arianne asks with a frown.

“Yes,” Quentyn says quietly as he stares out at the sea, “don’t let his pretty face fool you.”

“I wonder if Viserys had been like him,” Arianne wonders aloud, “it’s a shame I never got to meet him.”

Sansa walks along the balcony past them and flutters through the open balcony doors before anyone notices. It was a mild mistake on her part, what with maids swinging brooms at her whenever they saw her, trying to shoo her away towards the doors. It was a lot harder being a bird then she expected if she was being honest. When she finally reaches the great hall, Oberyn is with the pale haired man along with his brother. They sit around a table and argue about something Sansa knows nothing about. She wishes she knew Dornish, because they were all speaking it in rapid succession. She liked the sound of his voice in Dornish, and made a note to have him teach her some of it later on. From what she could pick up, they were discussing leadership. The word for leadership, at least…in the common tongue meant leadership…in Dornish she thinks it might mean _king_.

She gives up after a bit, is frustrated by her foiled plans of spying on the stranger. She turns back, doesn’t want Oberyn seeing a stray bird in the palace for fear he might work out why that bird was here. She’ll release it once she’s outside, once she’s gotten past the maids with their brooms that is.  She makes it out to the garden before she lets the bird go and seconds later she’s back in her own body. Blinking away the disorientation she feels, she turns back into her bed chambers, shutting the balcony doors before collapsing onto her bed. That was a fruitless venture she thinks, and wonders how her Father would have handled all of this. Maybe she should ask Oberyn about it, but from the look Ellaria gave her that might not be a good idea. Something tells her that if she was going to be queen in the north then she needed to get back into the game, but for now she needed to decide how she was going to make her move.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa meets someone new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

It would be weeks before Sansa learns the truth of the situation. She learns it without Oberyn’s awareness too. She learns it sitting out in the sun, marveling in what Sansa thinks will probably be one of the last days she’ll feel summer heat for a long time. Winter is coming, as she often reminds herself. It’s been horribly cold lately, but today isn’t so bad. She couldn’t _really_ call it summer, but it was close.

“You must be the viper’s flower,” says a serene voice, and Sansa turns, her bright blue eyes meeting lilac ones. Sansa blinks at him, the skirts of her sea green gown shimmering in the sunlight. She brushes a stray lock of auburn hair behind her ears and stands, smiling politely, “Hello…forgive me…I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“No please,” he says and presents her with a short bow, before adding, “I am Prince Aegon of House Targaryen.”

_Targaryen…Prince….as in a prince who is a Targaryen…that prince….._

Her mind shuts down for a moment, processing the information. Silvery hair, glittering lilac eyes, the red and black doublet and tunic…he was _very_ Targaryen. This changes everything Sansa thinks, this throws the whole damn game off…this knocks every single chess piece off the board.

“Lady Sansa of House Stark,” Sansa says, curtseying politely, “It is a pleasure your grace.”

She was good at recovering quickly, she wasn’t anticipating on meeting a long lost Targaryen relative today. This must be the Aegon that Arianne had been talking about, and immediately Sansa is slightly apprehensive of him.

“House Stark,” he muses aloud, “I can see why the viper would seek to keep such a rare flower for himself.”

“His grace Prince Oberyn has been kind to me,” Sansa replies politely.

“So I’ve heard,” he smiles as he takes in the view of the garden, “The Water Gardens are beautiful…my Lady Mother must have loved it here.”

“Your grace?” Sansa asks, a little confused by his words.

“My Lady Mother was her highness Princess Elia of House Martell,” he explains easily, “I am the son of Prince Rhaegar of house Targaryen.”

_Sweet seven…._   
  


“I was told…” Sansa trails off, trying to find the right words, “When I was but a girl the maester of my household taught me of the rebellion...”

“Yes,” Aegon agrees, “Many believe me dead.”

“I am pleased your grace is alive and well then,” Sansa smiles at him and steps up beside him, gazing out over the gardens, “It is a beautiful garden.”

“Would you be so kind as to grant me a tour?” He asks, and Sansa nods with a smile. He offers her his arm and she takes it, leading him through the gardens. She’s not entirely sure if she’s supposed to even be with him, if Oberyn even knew that Aegon was out here with her.

“How does your grace like the Water Gardens?” she asks as they pass by the first pond.

“I find it comfortable,” he says with a smile, “My Uncle and I travelled here late last night. We had a great deal of work at Sunspear to complete before we could retire here for a while. I’ve come a long way.”

“I hope you will enjoy your stay your grace,” Sansa says with a polite smile, pausing to admire one of the rose bushes.

“How long have you known my Uncle?” he inquires curiously, “when I first heard of the viper’s flower I was admittedly baffled. I thought no woman could ever manage to ensnare my Uncle as you do.”

Sansa feigns a blush; her skills at court life were rusty. She wasn’t used to pretending anymore, she was allowed to be herself here. “You flatter me your grace,” Sansa smiles up at him, “but I wasn’t even aware that I held such a title.”

“Oh yes,” he laughs lightly, “I assure you it’s nothing terrible…people speak highly of you. They say the Red Viper of Dorne has claimed a rare flower, bright as a summer blossom and kept her hidden within the high walls of the Water Gardens palace.”

Sansa laughs, a genuine one that seems to bring a twinkle to the prince’s eyes when she does. It’s almost hilarious to think that anyone would think she was worthy of such a title. She was no summer blossom, nor was she a kept woman. Oberyn spent most of his days elsewhere, spending time with her and Ellaria when he could and that was all she could ask of him. Granted their relationship has moved further, she and Oberyn were on more comfortable terms now. She could be called his lover but they have never lain together in such a way. She has slept in his bed and let him touch her as a husband would touch his wife, but he has not taken her maidenhead. “I’m hardly a kept woman;” Sansa smiles mirthfully, “your Uncle gives me great freedom.”

“I understand you may wed?” he asks as they walk, the light breeze brushing his silvery hair off his shoulders. The sunlight catches his lilac eyes and Sansa can’t help but stare a little…he was so very handsome.

“We may,” Sansa agrees, “It has not been decided yet.”

“I would be glad to call you family,” he tells her as he kisses her knuckles with a smile, “you would make a lovely princess.”

I am a _queen_ ….

Sansa thinks to herself but does not voice her opinion out loud. She is rightful queen in the north, _just as you are rightful king of everything else except Dorne._ Sansa ponders this, suppresses a smile at the thought of the titles he would have has king of Westeros. She never understood why the title claimed all seven kingdoms when the king was really only king of six. Dorne was its own independent country, something she was very proud of. If she ever became a princess of Dorne she’d be keen to keep it that way. Dorne has stood down Aegon the conqueror twice over; not even the Targaryens could not stand against the might of Dorne.

“Does something amuse you milady?” he asks, bewitched by the smile curving her lips.

“Oh nothing,” Sansa laughs a little, “I was only recalling fond memories.”

“I’m pleased to think I can stir such happy moments for you,” he grins back as they turn back towards the palace, Sansa spying Arianne waiting on the steps of the palace. She waves them over and they head towards her.

“Uncle Oberyn is waiting for us Aegon,” she says as she turns her gaze upon Sansa and smiles, “you must be Sansa.”

“I am your grace,” Sansa smiles at her.

“It is a pleasure, I am Arianne…please…just call me Arianne, there’s no need for such formalities here,” she tells Sansa earnestly. Arianne is such a warm person Sansa thinks, she has such kindness in her and they’ve only just met.

“I must take my leave of you it appears milady,” Aegon says as he kisses Sansa’s knuckles once more, bowing politely.

Sansa smiles and bows her head politely, “it was an honor your grace.”

               He offers Arianne his arm and they return indoors while Sansa looks on quietly. Aegon certainly seemed Targaryen, but she doesn’t even know the whole story. He was pleasant to be around though, and Sansa had to give him credit for that.

 

* * *

 

               Later that evening she sits with Ellaria, the older woman stroking her hair while Sansa’s head lay in her lap. Ellaria is singing something in dornish, some soft and beautiful song that Sansa longs  to learn herself. When Oberyn enters the room he looks weary and gives them both a faint smile, stripping off his tunic and outter robes until he’s down to his breeches. The bath was already drawn for him and he disrobes the rest of his clothing without any flourish, dropping down into the heat of the water with a sigh.

“You look tired my love,” Ellaria calls and Sansa moves out of the way so Ellaria can go sit on the edge of the tube to wash his hair and back.

“I am exhausted,” he says quietly while Ellaria pours warm water over his head and then scented oils and soaps to wash his hair. “I heard today that you met Aegon, Sansa.”

“I did,” Sansa agrees from across the room. She wasn’t about to go over there and sit by the tub, there were still some boundaries she wasn’t going to cross just yet.

“What did you talk of?” Oberyn presses and Sansa sighs. She knows what this is about and proceeds to tell him everything that happened earlier today.

“He wasn’t even supposed to be out there,” Oberyn mutters quietly, “I am not so sure of this boy who claims to be my nephew. Doran believes him…but I am weary.”

“If he is who he claims to be…Dorne can back his claim…” Ellaria says gently, washing the soap from his hair.

“True,” Oberyn agrees, “though I prefer to keep him on the far side of the palace. I didn’t even want him here, but Doran insisted that he is family and has a right to stay here.”

“Get to know him,” Ellaria urges him gently, “He is a year or so older than Sansa…if he is truly Aegon…that means he never knew his family…his parents….his _mother_.” Oberyn visibly winces at the mention of Elia and sighs.

“Why do you use Elia against me so?” he grumbles sourly, “that’s _cheating_.”

“When I lost all of my family,” Sansa says so quietly they both freeze, a hint of sorrow in her voice, “I would have given anything… _anything_ in the world to have them back…even if it were just one of them…no matter how they came back to me as long as they came back. You’ve never met your nephew…you never knew him and he never knew you…but your family has shown up on your doorstep after being believed dead for what…sixteen…seventeen years? You should hug him…get to know him…spend time with him…be his Uncle. I would give anything for one of my brothers to be alive again…I would give anything to see Arya again….” Sansa trails off and both of them feel guilty about the conversation suddenly.

“I will talk to him,” Oberyn says after a long pause, both he and Ellaria listening to the sound of Sansa’s soft breathing, it was clear she was struggling not to weep.

Sansa doesn’t reply and Ellaria finishes washing his back. Instead, Sansa wanders out onto the terrace and sits on a wide pillowed seat, soft and comfortable. She leans back against the pillows and sighs, trying not to pity herself once more. Sometimes they didn’t understand her, sometimes they didn’t understand the desperate need to see her family again, the need to take up the winter crown and hunt down every last person who brought harm to her family. There was a part of her that craved blood, she had some strange sort of violence building up in her, the ache to reforge her father’s sword and destroy them all. She understood Oberyn’s need for apprehension, but hearing him speak the way he did hit a cord in her that brought tears to her eyes. She would give damn near anything to have Arya show up on her doorstep. She wouldn’t care if Arya was shaved bald and as wild as a wolf, or if she’d took up with a wildling or some farmer just as long as she was alive and well. True, Aegon was thought to be dead and there were many people in Lys and Myr who had the Targaryen look to them. For all they knew Aegon could be just that, or he could even be a Blackfyre….nobody really knew and there was no way to prove it.

What was it in there to just say that he was? To simply accept it? It might be a beautiful lie…or it might not be…either way he had the right air about him to be king…he had a level head on his shoulders and right now Westeros _needed_ an Aegon. Westeros needed Aegon and his sisters to come back, to restore balance and get Westeros under control, because to be honest….Westeros went to shit the moment the Targaryens left.

“Sansa,” Oberyn’s voice cuts into her thoughts and she glances up at him as he drops down next to her, his arm sliding under her shoulders and pulling her against him. She lets him, keeping silent. She has no words to explain her plight, so she lays her head on his shoulder and lets him speak instead. “You are angry with me.” It was a statement and not a question and Sansa only shrugs, closing her eyes against the night breeze.

“I understand your need to have your family with you,” he says, his fingers curling into her hair as he speaks, “but here me out. I do not know this boy….he comes to our home and claims he is my nephew. If Dorne goes to war, to carry his claim and lay it before the Lannisters and we are wrong about him…it could destroy us. Daenerys Targaryen is a Targaryen…that cannot be denied and we have no doubt of her heritage. We can back her and we will not live in fear that we are wrong…if we back Aegon and he isn’t who he claims to be, we risk provoking the dragon queen into war as well.”

“Then align your family with hers,” Sansa says softly, “if such a dispute were laid at my feet and I had sons and daughters of my own, I would chose the eldest of them and propose she wed him. From there we could use that alliance to lay claim to the iron throne. She will have her unsullied, three dragons, the second sons and the might of Dorne behind her...nothing stands against the might of Dorne…not even the Targaryens.”

He laughs and kisses the top of her head before he replies, “You have such faith in my people Sansa it is flattering, though my love I must say…we already have that part in mind. If I were to marry you, we could help her anyways. Daenerys is family to us; there is no need for an alliance. With your added support, she would already have half the kingdom under her control.”

“ _I_ don’t even have control of the north Oberyn,” Sansa points out, “I am rightful heir to the winter throne, but it’s not mine yet.”

“ _Yet_ ,” he points out, “as you say…the might of Dorne will easily win it back for you.”

“I have to admit,” She muses aloud, “It would be kind of funny to see the Lannister’s faces when they realize Dorne’s taken half the kingdom right out from under their pale pointed noses.”

“Yes,” he muses aloud, “although I do not think Myrcella would be pleased with it. I worry for the girl, she is betrothed to my nephew and yet I think Doran may break the engagement. He wants to back Aegon’s claim…and it’s not in anyone’s good taste to hold that girl here should a war begin. We should return her to her family.”

“Agreed,” Sansa nods, “she’s such a sweet girl…it frightens me. She reminds me of me when I first left for Kings Landing, believing that one day I would be queen and Joffrey was my sweet prince…and how I was so horribly wrong…so beyond horribly _wrong_ …”

“She will learn,” he sighs, “it is the curse of youth in these days…they know nothing of the world until they actually go out into it. I have never shielded my children from the truth; I want them to see the world for what it really is. That way I will never fear my children being hurt because of ignorance.”

“A good sentiment, one I would exact upon my own children as well. My daughters will know the songs are lies and my sons will know what it means to be a good man.”

“The songs are not all lies;” he says softly, “the Lannisters are monsters…the people of Westeros are corrupted and foul…but not all the songs are lies.”

“Are you trying to say you are the prince in my songs?” She laughs a little and wonders if she’s offended him when he stiffens against her.

“I am not a bad man,” he begins quietly, “but I am not completely good either. I have blood on my hands…you know my reputation Sansa. I can be savage and ruthless…I am well known for it. I seek vengeance for my family…I always have. Where I crave war for the wrongs done to my family my brother craves neutrality. He doesn’t want a war; he is enraged by our sister’s death but won’t do anything about it. So I went to Westeros myself, I was tired of waiting for my brother to act. It isn’t enough though; the Lannisters will answer for their crimes as well. When we decide who we are backing…they _will_ answer for it.”

“You are not a bad man,” she agrees whole heartedly, “you were kind to save me as you did…I will always be in debt to you for it. I think you are a passionate man…I think you love deeply and fiercely and burn just as brightly when someone hurts the people you love. Elia was lucky to have you as a brother and I am grateful to know you…and speaking of reputations…. _the vipers flower_?”

He laughs, a full and deep laugh with his beautiful dark eyes full of mirth when he looks down at her, “so you’ve heard?”

“Yes,” she laughs, “I wasn’t aware I held such a title.”

“You _are_ my flower,” he muses aloud, feathering kisses all along her cheek and neck. She laughs and bats him away playfully. “Each year you shall blossom, and each year you shall be more beautiful than before.”

“You flatter me,” she smiles at him, “I am hardly all that.”

“But you _are_ ,” he says with a nip at her ear, making the hair on the back of her head stand up. How she longed for other things with him, how she longed to truly be his. It was a decision she didn’t want to rush, it was something that needed to be carefully thought out. His lips are hot on her neck and his hands are sliding up her sides, cupping her breasts, and causing heat to pool between her legs. She had to admit, just the sound of his voice had a tendency to do this too her, and the idea of being his flower was pleasing as well. It made her sound exotic and special, but she _wasn’t_ special or exotic…she was just Sansa.

               Her breasts are exposed to the cold night air and she gasps a little, his mouth tasting each one, his free hand snaking under her skirts and pulling them up to her hips. It wasn’t a particularly private place where they were, especially when he lays her back on the pillows and climbs off the wide bench, pulling her towards him and resting her legs on either one of his shoulders. She’s blushing from head to toe she thinks, they were so far out into the open, and anyone with good eye sight could probably look up and see them. All thoughts are driven from her head when she feels his tongue sliding across her flower, a strangled cry just a little _too_ loud bursting from her lips.

“I certainly hope you plan on sharing that flower at some point,” calls Ellaria from the bed chambers and Sansa’s blush grows deeper, the feel of his beard against her woman’s place making her bite her lip to prevent any more unseemly outcries.

He laughs a little against her flower, his fingers curling inside her. “I am such a _greedy_ man.”

“Then I must be greedy too,” Sansa breaths aloud, her hips rocking against his fingers and mouth.

Ellaria appears beside them, fruit in her mouth and a curious look in her eyes, “I always did enjoy dinner with entertainment.”

               This was by far the most she’s ever pushed her boundaries. Ellaria propped beside her on the bench, enjoying the show while Sansa fights not to scream to loudly. There was something wicked about how they were doing this out in the open, how her release is all over his fingers and he’s sucking them clean while she watches, how there are stars dancing before her eyes and Ellaria’s honeyed kisses on her lips while Oberyn’s hot mouth presses kisses to her inner thighs.  She could stay in Dorne with them both forever…gladly…happily…she could give them every part of herself forever.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is acknowledged in the game and Jon has a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

They are hit by a savage sandstorm so violent they are forced to close every window and door in the palace, the sands so dangerous they were lethal. Sansa has never seen anything like it, as she watches swirls of red and gold sand whip past the windows, tearing up anything in their path. Oberyn was with the others in the great hall, discussing things with his nephew. They had expected Prince Doran today, but obviously the storm will delay him.

“The entire palace is made of stone and mud,” Sansa says to Ellaria nervously, “These sands are ripping up everything in their path.”

“We will endure,” Ellaria shrugs, “we’ve endured for hundreds of years.”

“I’ve never seen red sand before,” Sansa replies, “is it like that everywhere?”

“Yes,” Ellaria nods, “more so out in the deserts near the red mountains….there are rivers farther inland that run red like blood with it, and the only drinkable source of water in Dorne is the Greenblood.”

“Planky town,” Sansa recalls, “there is a village called Planky town there yes?”

“Yes,” Ellaria says with a smile, “though nobody really considers it a village. Dorne is to barren and hot to be said to have cities or towns…there is the shadow city beneath Sunspear as you recall…and Planky Town next to the Greenblood…though it’s all just made of broken ships and boats…their not even real houses. They are the remnants of Princess Nymeria’s people.”

“Excuse me,” a servant says, appearing in the doorway.

“Yes, what is it?” Ellaria asks, looking at the young woman expectantly.

“Milady Sansa has been requested in the great hall,” the young woman says a little nervously.

“Tell them I’m on my way,” Sansa replies and watches the young woman curtsey before leaving.

 

* * *

 

               When she enters the great hall there are a group of men and women around a large table, a map of Westeros spread out across it.  She stops before them all, curtseys for both Oberyn and Aegon and Arianne. “Your grace,” she says with practiced ease, “you summoned me?”

“Yes,” Oberyn says as he motions to a seat next to Arianne and across from Aegon. Sansa takes it politely and looks up attentively as Aegon speaks next.

“I wish to know of the north Lady Sansa,” he begins as he motions to the map, “You are rightful Lady of Winterfell and Warden of the North, it is you I would turn for expertise in such matters.”

“The North your grace,” Sansa begins as she stands, leaning over the map with him so she might point out landmarks and rivers, “Is a cold and brutal place. It snows nine months out of the year and rains the other three. You would be lucky to see a warm day during the entire year, and if it were to get warm you would have mud slides, flooding and slush to deal with. Horses would find difficulty maneuvering the landscape as the snow drifts are usually waist deep and the weather is absolutely freezing. You would need heavy furs and strong armor to deal with the north your grace.” Sansa pauses, letting him soak this information in before continuing, “The forests of the North are dense and old. They consist of miles of old dead trees amongst new, but all are usually damp with rain or snow. If you intend to bring you aunts dragons your grace...fire would be nearly useless in most of these regions. This place here is Winterfell, this is the seat of my family house Stark, and this is where my brother Robb held his winter throne. Roose Bolton’s hold is here, the Dreadfort. Their banner is that of a flayed man, and from what I understand his son Ramsay Bolton is acting on his Fathers orders, however his burning of my brother’s seat wasn’t planned.” Sansa frowns at the map, staring at the place where Winterfell once stood.

“Bolton will be difficult will he?” Aegon makes note.

Sansa nods in reply before answering, “He will your grace. Roose Bolton has wanted my Father’s seat since he was a boy. It doesn’t surprise me that he would seek to claim it the moment my brother’s head rolled off his shoulders.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” Aegon stiffens at her words, obviously not expecting what she said.

“It is done,” Sansa waves it off, “I must focus on the present your grace, and honor his memory with what I do now.”

“Well said,” Oberyn remarks with a nod, “Continue Milady.”

“This is Winterfell as I pointed out, between Winterfell is the river White Knife, and across from that is the Dreadfort. They are a savage and brutal people, my Father kept a keen eye on them while he was Warden of the North. My brother took as much of the North as clear as the Neck, where Walder Frey betrayed my brother and took his head for Lannister gold.” Sansa pauses, clearing her throat and gratefully taking a glass of dornish wine offered to her by a servant. She takes a sip, sets it down on the table and then continues. “Walder Frey is treacherous…he is easily swayed by gold. He has no honor in him your grace…don’t trust him.”

“I shall bear that in mind Lady Sansa,” Aegon nods thoughtfully, scrutinizing the map. “Would you consent to join me Lady Sansa…swear fealty unto me and join your forces with mine?”

Sansa freezes, her eyes locked on the map intently. She was the voice of the North in this, and to say yes would be to declare war on the south. To say no would be to insult Dorne and the Targaryen heir. Torrhen Stark knelt before an Aegon…Sansa knew she must do the same to protect her people.  “Your grace…I would gladly stand behind you in this matter. I would rather see a Targaryen on the throne than any other. I believe the only time Westeros was every completely united was under Targaryen reign. What Robert Baratheon did was a great mistake that doomed the six kingdoms.”

“Six?” Aegon smiles at her, “I believe it is seven.”

“Forgive me your grace,” Sansa smiles at him, “Figures were never my strong suit.”

Out of the corner of her eye she can see Oberyn smiling into his wine glass, and she tries very hard not to smile too. Dorne would never belong to the Targaryens; she doesn’t give a damn how many marriages might claim otherwise.

Aegon grins at her and taps his chin thoughtfully, “We shall send letters to each of your bannermen,” he begins after a moment, “We shall inform them of your health, that you are alive and well in Dorne. They will abandon Roose Bolton when they know you live, and you will instantly have control of the North again. There would be no need for battle.”

“Forgive me your grace;” Sansa muses as she sits down, “but my people are a suspicious and unyielding sort. We have grown in harsh and bitter weather, it makes us strong. To merely send letters would not sway their loyalty to Roose Bolton, they would need proof.”

“If my Uncle Doran sends them,” he points out, “they would listen. To have the ruling Prince of Dorne write to them on this matter would warrant attention.”

“Agreed,” Sansa nods, “if it please you your grace.”

“It does please me,” he smiles at her with a nod, “I should like to speak with Uncle when he arrives tomorrow,” he says, glancing at Oberyn.

“He would be glad to hear your request,” Oberyn nods thoughtfully as he stares at the map. “You would have control of the riverlands also Lady Sansa, is this not correct?”

“Yes,” Sansa nods, “Though I was not educated so much upon those lands as I am of the North. I was raised to be the Lady of Winterfell should something befall my family. I was taught to know every banner, every hold and every lake and river. I was not educated in the matters of war though, and if it please your grace I will help you in any way I can…but as for strategies of war I’m afraid I must leave that to you.”

“I’m sure your quite capable,” Aegon muses aloud, “a strong woman of the north, surely you could ferret out the weak points if need be.”

“In the North,” Sansa smiles up at him, “Oh yes…to besiege my own lands…I would know where to start…to besiege those of my Uncle….not so much. The riverlands are the home of my kin, the Tullys. As it stands, from what I know my Uncle Edmure is missing. It may be that he is alive or that he is dead somewhere. I haven’t a clue to either one.”

“Then please,” Aegon presses, “Tell us what you know of the riverlands.”

Sansa begins, and it is long and tedious work. She is exhausted by late afternoon; the howling of the sandstorm outside is slowly dying down though by all means not traversable. Nobody would dare stick so much as toe out the door, Oberyn had described to her the dangers of it in detail once. Sandstorms in Dorne were known to rip the skin right off someone. They break for a while, and Aegon is keen on soaking up every ounce of knowledge she has about Westeros.

“Tell me of Kings Landing…what’s it like there?” he says, curiosity lighting his bright lilac colored eyes.

“It’s very…pretty,” Sansa says as they walk about the room together, “It is…made of bright red stone, decorated with flowery vines climbing the walls of the court yards. The royal apartments are designated by different reigns…I haven’t seen much of them but I do believe I found the wing of your namesake, King Aegon the first, to be the most lovely. His wife, Queen Rhaenys had a beautiful mind from what I understand, she was capable of such artwork and creativity it was legendary.”

“I think I would love to see it when I recover Kings Landing from the Lannisters,” he smiles at her and Sansa smiles back.

He was as green as the rolling hills of the Riverlands. He had no idea what he was up against that frightened Sansa a little. He was cocky and sure of himself and arrogant, Targaryen traits from what she understands. She certainly hopes he knows what he’s getting himself into, and furthermore that he will listen to his Uncles should they object to something he’s doing. “I would love to show you, if it please you your grace,” Sansa says as she sips her wine.

“I would enjoy that I think,” he tells her, his lilac eyes lingering on her smile.

Sansa blushes a little, wonders silently what he’s getting at and turns as Oberyn approaches them. “We must begin,” he informs them and turns away, the two of them following after him.

“I would dearly like for you to continue with us Lady Sansa,” Aegon tells her, “you are rightful warden of the north and should be a part of this war council.”

“As I have said before your grace,” Sansa smiles at him, silently pleased that he would want her in the council, “I haven’t much knowledge on matters of war.”

“I would teach you,” he presses with a grin, “anything you want to know. You can make any decision you like and if I see it is folly I’ll show you why.”

“Is that how young men are taught about war?” Sansa asks curiously as they take their seats at the table. “Do they often learn from observation?”

“That and experiencing it,” Aegon shrugs, “You have to see it…be a part of it…fight one…to learn how to handle them. There is no better way to learn about war.”

“Lady Sansa has experienced her part in war I assure you nephew,” Oberyn cuts in, “she has endured her share.”

“Yes,” Aegon nods, “and I promise you there will be retribution for your family Lady Sansa,” he says reassuringly to Sansa.

“I would be most honored,” Sansa says as they begin, Oberyn leading the conversation with talk of the reach and the vale. It was still under the control of Sansa’s aunt Lysa and the Tyrells, which meant they would have to convince Lysa to side with them and deal with the Tyrells.

 

* * *

 

               He’s forgetting…he can’t remember his Father’s name…he remembers a woman with hair like fire, a beautiful young woman standing next to a man he doesn’t remember. He doesn’t remember the name of the wolf he runs next too, he can’t recall where he once lived. It was all fading and Jon was tired of fighting it. He shakes his head, white fur rushing in the wind as snow and dirt are flung from it. Nymeria glances back at him with concern. Nymeria knows that something is wrong with him, but he knows she can’t help him. She has done her best, snapping at his flank, keeping him moving, forcing him to remember things that he would have forgotten long ago without him. Now he was slipping away and he knew when he did he would be lost. The word crow keeps floating around in his mind but he thinks of a bird and nothing else. He keeps seeing that fiery haired woman, that beautiful woman who wore fur like an animal. She was so beautiful he thinks…she is what he clings too; her voice and her face and he can’t even remember her name.

               He knows she is important to him, she held his heart in her hands and he hopes he can find her again one day. He wonders where she is, why she’s not with him. He doesn’t remember how he got this far out with the wolves, or how he even found them in the first place.

Jon Snow was fading away and Ghost was taking control.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Aegon go head to head about matters of the past, and the Lannisters face ruin. 
> 
> A/N: Things will be going AU from here on out. I'm still following the books however I've switched a few of the events around...changed some of the information regarding Cersei and her failed attempt at ruining Margarey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

               Sansa is nervous; her foot tapping lightly on the ground as she stares at the throw rub on the tiled floor of her bed chambers. Myrcella who is brushing out her auburn hair for her notes this and will occasionally reach around and grab her knee gently, a pointed look on her face, “Sansa…your tapping out the rhythm to a northern wedding dance. I’m trying to brush out your hair and you won’t sit still.”

“I’m nervous,” Sansa mutters quietly.

“Don’t be,” Myrcella smiles, “you will be a beautiful bride for Prince Oberyn.”

“What?” Sansa blinks at Myrcella who’s smiling brightly at her.

“Why else would you be tapping out the rhythm to a northern wedding dance? You’ve decided to marry him.”

Myrcella doesn’t know the truth of course; she has no idea of what went on in the great hall a week ago. Sansa was worried about the letters that were sent out; they should have received replies by now or would be soon. She knew doing this would rouse Roose Bolton’s wraith, he would either write to her himself or her bannermen would reply.

“I’ve decided nothing Myrcella,” Sansa sighs, “I’m just recalling that dance because it’s my favorite. There was never so happy a dance in the North as that one.”

“Oh,” Myrcella laughs, “I’m such a silly goose forgive me.”

When a servant appears in the door Sansa looks up expectantly at her. “My lady,” she begins with a curtsey, “Prince Oberyn requests your presence in his study.”

“I’m coming,” Sansa says and stands abruptly, so quickly it knocks the brush right out of Myrcella’s hand who in turns giggles at Sansa’s earnest.

“Not excited are you?” she giggles and Sansa shoots her a look before moving swiftly out the door and all but running through the palace to Oberyn’s study.

* * *

 

 

Upon arrival she sees Doran’s grave face and knows something is wrong. Oberyn is at his desk and holds the letter in hand, his dark eyes full of concern.

“What is it?” Sansa presses without even bothering to use courtesy this time, “What does it say Oberyn? Is it from my bannermen?”

“No,” he shakes his head solemnly and tosses the letter on the desk for her to read. She snatches it up in a flash and reads it, her face dropping at the words on the paper.

“Now we know why they haven’t answered us yet,” Oberyn sighs, rubbing his face wearily, “I don’t know what to do now.”

“We musn’t act with haste brother,” Doran says pointedly, “We don’t know all the facts yet.”

“We know enough that Tyrion has murdered his Father and fled the capital. We know that Kevan Lannister is dead and Cersei Lannister is being paraded through the streets of Kings Landing, her shame for all to see.”

“Does Tommen know?” Sansa says quietly, staring at the paper in her hand. It was sent by a connection of Oberyn’s in the city.

“Yes,” he frowns, “Oh yes he does. How could he not know? His mother is being forced to walk naked through the streets of Kings Landing, her head shaken and her body bared for the world to see. No child should ever be forced to endure that.”

“We have to get him out of there,” Sansa says quickly, “No child should ever be forced to pay for the sins of their parents.”

“We can do nothing for him from here Sansa,” Oberyn says gently, “There is no saving the boy. As it is…we haven’t told Myrcella yet and now that we know the truth of her….”

“She cannot help she is a bastard,” Sansa says pointedly, “she cannot help how she was born….”

“The world _knows_ Sansa,” Oberyn presses, “Everyone knows…Cersei Lannister did this to herself. She tried to frame Margarey Tyrell….even still what makes it worse is from the looks of it Tyrion killed Kevan Lannister too. Why…we have no idea….but he did.”

“There must be a way to protect her Oberyn,” Sansa frowns, her gaze shifting between Doran and Oberyn, “she’s just a child.”

“A natural born child,” Doran adds, “a natural born child who will inherit nothing now that the truth is out.”

“If we send her back, they will kill her,” Oberyn sighs, “If we keep her here…she will be safe…it’s all we can do for her brother.”

“And Tommen?” Sansa presses, “He’ll be killed too Oberyn. They won’t just kill him…they’ll make him suffer first…they’ll take his head or beat him and he’s the sweetest little boy I’ve ever met…he’s so kind…he loves kittens and horses and jousting…I’ve never met a kinder little boy…” Sansa says, fighting the tears that threaten to spill in her eyes. She will not cry in front of them, she will prove her strength. “He doesn’t deserve such a terrible death.”

“As it is,” Oberyn says quietly, “the Lannisters are ruined. The Tyrell’s have control now, and Margarey is still queen. She and Tommen married recently.”

“What will happen to Cersei?” Sansa asks, taking deep breaths to calm herself.

“She’ll be forced into a trial by combat, from what I understand,” Oberyn explains, watching the emotions dissipate from Sansa’s face. She was fighting so hard to be strong right now, fighting so hard to be as leveled headed as any man in this kind of situation.

“When will you tell Myrcella?” Sansa says, pouring herself a glass of wine. She needed to relax and wine will give her the strength to endure this; her heart ached for Cersei’s children. She hated that horrible woman, but nobody deserved to be stripped naked and sent to walk through the streets for all to see. Sansa knew what that was like, it happened to her before the court in Kings Landing. She wished that fate upon no one…not even Cersei Lannister.

“Today,” Oberyn replied, “I will inform her today. She has a right to know and it’s best if she hears it from me and not from the gossip of servants and the like.”

“Good,” Sansa nods, tapping her chin thoughtfully as she paces the room, “Does Prince Aegon know yet?”

“No,” Prince Doran replied, “We will tell him later today at the meeting. Speaking of which…I want you and my brother to return to Sunspear with us. I need to present you to the members of the court; I want them to know who you are.”

“Yes of course your grace,” Sansa nods politely.

Doran smiles a little at her before replying, “In private you may call me Doran…in public alone you must be formal in all things. With my family though, we don’t address each other with formality.”

“Of course Doran,” Sansa smiles, “and please…call me Sansa…every time I hear Lady Stark I think of my Lady Mother.”

“Then it’s settled, I’m calling a meeting of the court with our nephew and you two will meet us at Sunspear later today,” Doran tells them both before making his farewells and leaving.

“Are you alright?” Oberyn asks when he’s gone.

“I worry for her children,” Sansa sighs, dropping down into a nearby chair, “I’m scared for them. Cersei was a terrible woman…but I would not ever want to see her children punished for it.”

“They cannot find Jaime Lannister either,” he says to her, “so he’ll be running I imagine the moment he realizes he’s being hunted.”

“What will happen to Casterly Rock?” Sansa asks all of a sudden, her mind working quickly.

“It will go to the crown I imagine,” Oberyn shrugs.

“Another family destroyed,” Sansa frowns, rubbing her face, “We need Aegon the conqueror.”

“We have an Aegon,” he points out, “though I doubt he’s a conqueror. The boy is as green as the tapestries in this room.”

“Well,” Sansa sighs, “It’s a start. Now we need Daenerys….her dragons will be key if he plans on taking Westeros.”

“He wants to start with the stormlands…but he claims his contact says now is the time if he’s going to attack. The kingdom is chaos and is distracted. I think Aegon plans to head out with his ships first thing tomorrow if he can manage it.”

“Who is his contact?” Sansa presses curiously.

“Varys,” Oberyn says and nods when Sansa pulls a face.

“I know,” he agrees, “I’m glad someone else agrees with me on this. Varys is slippery and dangerous. I don’t trust him but he does. He claims Varys was key to his survival in escaping the attack of the Lannisters when that bastard Gregor Clegane came to kill my sister and her children.”

This was news to her, and this also worried her. What was Varys end game exactly? Why did Varys want to help Aegon at all? She needed more facts; she needed to know the whole story.  “How did he help him escape?”

Oberyn tells her the story over lunch, trays of food brought into them in the study. They eat and he tells her what Aegon told him and his brother, and by the end Sansa is both skeptical and thoughtful. “Elia was in on this?”

“Yes,” he says, “or so he says. Elia would do anything to protect her children…even if it meant sacrificing someone else’s. I can see her doing that if she were desperate…not under any normal circumstances though. She loved children…was thrilled when she knew she was with child. Rhaegar fulfilled one of her greatest dreams in life. She loved those children…I wouldn’t be surprised if she did that.”

“What about Rhaenys?” Sansa says, slightly perturbed that they only saved the boy.

“No time,” he says, “no time and no other child to switch out. Rhaenys was three by then, and it would have been hard to find a child who looks just like her.”

“How did Varys know Gregor was coming…how did he know the face would be….”

“I don’t get that part either,” Oberyn says thoughtfully, “Aegon claims that Varys took a gamble on it. Either way, he would be long gone with Aegon and they’d have a hell of a time finding Aegon once Varys had him smuggled out of the city. Even if they figured it out…it would be too late.”

“It would make sense;” Sansa says thoughtfully, “Gregor was brutal and savage if anything. I couldn’t see him killing the child kindly.”

Oberyn grimaces and she sighs, catching his hand in hers and kissing his knuckles, “I’m sorry…I know it must be painful to think of.”

“Their killer is dead,” Oberyn says as he sips his wine, “I can rest in the knowledge of that.”

“I get it now,” Sansa says after a long pause, the two of them eating in silence as they dwell on their thoughts.

“Get what?” he asks, watching her finish her lunch and set it aside.

“I get why they killed my Father,” Sansa says, staring into her wine goblet. “He must have discovered the truth and so Cersei framed him.”

“Cersei couldn’t have done that alone,” Oberyn says, “She’s not clever enough for it.”

“Then I _will_ find out who helped her,” Sansa says a little darkly, surprising Oberyn with her sudden coolness. He gathered he was witnessing the darker parts of Sansa, the parts that were filled with rage and sorrow for her lost family. “I will hunt them down.”

“I will help you,” he says gently, shaking her from her dark thoughts, “and I will see them brought to justice.”

 

* * *

 

               Sansa leaves ahead of Oberyn for Sunspear, flanked by some of his bannermen. He stays behind to speak with Myrcella, who Sansa feels such great compassion for in this terrible time. She makes note to visit her when she returns to the palace, Myrcella will need someone to talk too…or not. She can’t remember wanting to talk to anyone in Kings Landing when her family died…because when she looked at them all she saw were killers and murderers.

Upon entry of the throne room she is announced and steps forward, curtseying as she presents herself before Prince Doran and the court, “Your grace.”

She is introduced to each of the bannermen and all the ladies of the court one by one, and towards the end Aegon finds his way beside her, to which she gives him a warm smile and a polite nod. “Your grace…it’s good to see you again.”

“It’s a pleasure,” he bows his head with a smile of his own, “How have you fared today?”

“I am well thank you,” Sansa says, taking his proffered arm as they walk the room. “How does your grace fare today?”

“I am well,” he grins, “Though my sweet cousin Arianne is quite determined.”

“I see,” Sansa says, noting Arianne who is watching them like a hawk from across the room. “I’m sure her grace is only trying to make you feel welcome. She is a very kind woman.”

“Indeed,” he smiles at her, “and very stubborn.”

“My niece has always been stubborn,” Oberyn interrupts with a smile for his nephew.

“Uncle,” Aegon smiles, “I’m pleased you’ve joined us…I was wondering when you would arrive. Uncle Doran told me that there were things to discuss in the war room but not until you arrive.”

“Indeed,” he says as he motions for Sansa to take his arm, “If you don’t mind…I must steal Lady Sansa away from you for a while. I need to speak with her about something.”

“Of course,” Aegon says politely and releases Sansa’s arm, to which she switches over to Oberyn and is lead away to the corner of the room.

“Is something wrong?” Sansa asks worriedly.

“Myrcella did not take it well,” Oberyn says quietly, “I wouldn't expect her to anyways. Though I think she will need you when we return. She is with Ellaria now…but she is angry and outraged…I have never seen her so angry before. She has never been anything but sweetness and smiles…and now she’s as volatile as the creature who decorates her house banners.”

“She just found out her mother has been lying to her and her family is in ruins…anyone would be like that,” Sansa nods, “ _I_ was that way when I lost my family.”

“Which is why I think you would be best to help her through this,” Oberyn agrees.

“To the war room, both of you,” Doran says as he passes by, Aegon following with Arianne.

Oberyn leads Sansa after them, and once everyone is settled in the council chambers Doran begins. He first explains the situation in Kings Landing to Aegon and his company, Jon Connington being his man councilor. Next he addresses Aegon who explains his plans in full for the taking of the stormlands.

“So you’re telling me that you’ve been communicating with Varys…without our knowledge?” Oberyn says a little hotly and Sansa tries very hard not to shift in her seat. She can sense the tension in his body beside her; he looks particularly perturbed right now.

“I was made aware of his advancements just this morning Uncle,” Aegon says pointedly, “I apologize for not reporting them sooner but I felt it could wait till this evening when everyone was gathered.”

“The whole kingdom believes Tyrion Lannister murdered Kevan Lannister…but you are telling me that Varys did it?”

“Yes,” Aegon nods, “He’s weakened their hold that way. The Kingdom is in chaos….now is the time to attack.”

“We are not prepared for war yet,” Oberyn says firmly, “you advance ahead of us without any warning.”

“ _My_ men are ready Uncle,” Aegon says just as firmly, leaning on the table as he meets his Uncle’s gaze, “ _We_ will go ahead of you… _we_ will take the stormlands and then when you are ready you can follow.”

“What about Stannis,” Sansa points out, “I haven’t heard whether he lives or not…but if he is still out there no doubt he has an army looming in the wings.”

“Then let him come,” Aegon says darkly, “Let him burn with the rest of them.”

“Strong words for one without dragons,” Oberyn scowls at his nephew.

“I’m urging you to go to your aunt my nephew,” Doran says pointedly, “You will need her hand in marriage…you will need her dragons should you mean to take the Iron Throne…no one will believe you are who you claim to be otherwise.”

“I have my family here,” Aegon says firmly, “They will stand behind me when they see that Dorne supports my claim.”

“Dragons are powerful,” Sansa argues pointedly, “Your ancestor could only take Westeros because he had three of them. You _need_ your aunt if you mean to do this your grace.”

“ _My_ ancestor milady,” he says as his diamond hard lilac gaze meets her equally fierce blue ones, a war of fire and ice battling back and forth over a table, “was a great warrior. He could manage it without his dragons should he have needed too.”

The whole room is silent now, watching the two interact. Sansa is standing and she doesn’t even realize it, both of them leaning over the table towards each other as words are slowly getting heated. “I am trying to help you, your grace…forgive me if I speak out of turn but I feel I must warn you of the dangers going without dragon’s presents.”

“I _refuse_ to go to my aunt like a beggar in the streets,” he says coldly, determinedly. “Let her come to me if she craves the throne so badly. I shall be waiting for her.”

“Please,” Doran cuts in, trying to ease the tension the two were creating, “Let’s all calm down and work this out peacefully.”

It was as if they hadn’t even heard him, as Aegon leans closer and tilts his head to one side, regarding her thoughtfully, “The Starks bent the knee once…but they turned on my Father and my family. How can you promise me your fealty?”

“My _fealty_?” Sansa says, swallowing her outrage at his indirect accusation. “Your grace…I cannot undo what my Lord Father did nor can I undo what my Aunt did. It is done and it cannot be changed…but I swear to you that my Lord Father did not want war with the Targaryens until you grandsire, King Aerys killed both my grandsire and my Uncle. The war with the Starks was only provoked in that moment. Your grandsire refused to recall your Lord Father, Prince Rhaegar after he’d kidnapped my Lady Aunt Lyanna Stark. After all of this…all the blood that has been shed and the fights that have been fought…I swear to you fealty is not the issue. I will bend the knee to you as my predecessor Torrhen Stark did before me. I will lay the winter crown at your feet if you can _swear_ to me… _swear_ on the blood of your ancestors that you will unite the seven kingdoms and hold them in peace as Aegon the Conqueror did before you.”

He stares at her, so hard he was like to burn a hole in her face. Oberyn shifts in his chair beside her, watching the interaction closely. Even Prince Doran has given up trying to intervene; everyone knew this moment would come eventually. “I will do as you request Lady Sansa. I swear to you on the blood of my ancestors I will do it and then you will give up your throne to me.”

“It shall be done,” Sansa agrees, “and we shall lay to rest our family feud.”

“It shall be forgotten and forgiven,” Aegon agrees, “and we shall work out the negotiations later.”

“Agreed,” Sansa says while they regard each other thoughtfully, the two of them slowly retreating back into their seats.

“Now then,” Doran cuts in, “now that we’ve got that out of the way…let us continue.”

 

* * *

 

               Sansa is silent on her way to her bed chambers. Oberyn regards her quietly; there is darkness in her eyes and anger in her heart. The ride back to the Water Gardens had been just as silent. When they reach her bed chambers she bids him goodnight and tries to pull free of him but he won’t let go.  She looks up at him expectantly and he sighs before taking her hands in his own. “You cannot openly challenge him like that Sansa.” Though he was proud of her bravery, proud to see that fierceness in her finally surface, he was worried she might overstep.

“I am the Queen in the North,” Sansa says pointedly, “If only in name right now…it would be ridiculous to push my claim without the army to back it. I won’t even bother mentioning it…he knows who I am. But the nerve of him Oberyn…the nerve of him to just…call me out like that…to call out that horrible mess!”

“It was going to be brought up eventually,” he nods, “Though he could have addressed it with more finesse then he did tonight. Especially in front of the entire war council. I thought you might climb over the table and clobber him over the head with your shoe for a moment there.”

“We are fire and ice,” Sansa mutters, “It will always be heated between us I imagine.”

“There was once a prophecy about fire and ice…” Oberyn recalls as he follows Sansa into her bed chambers. He drops down onto her bed while she changes into her small clothes. She doesn’t even care anymore about what he sees…he’s seen it before.

“The _nerve_ of him!” Sansa fumes aloud, “Swearing _fealty_ to him…how dare he demand that of me like that!”

“He’s cocky,” Oberyn agrees as Sansa combs out her hair, “he should not make promises he has no idea if he can keep… _especially_ without dragons.”

“What prophecy?” Sansa asks after a long pause.

“The prophecy of fire and ice….something about Azor Ahai returning to the world and saving it from a great darkness. His is the song of Ice and Fire…the Prince that was promised or so he’s called.” Oberyn shrugs, “I don’t really know much about it.”

“Why do you bring it up?” Sansa asks curiously.

“You and Aegon merely reminded me of it is all,” he shrugs “I simply wonder how two separate and such different elements could ever become one.”

“Mmm…he and I go together like dragon peppers and cold cream,” Sansa muses with a half-smile.

“Yes…” he laughs with a nod, “that doesn’t sound particularly suitable.”

“I need to see to Myrcella,” Sansa says, kissing him passionately as was her fancy these days. She liked kissing him, there was just something addictive about the way he kissed her. “I will see you tomorrow.”

“Yes,” he says, catching her hip and pulling her to him again so he might kiss her. It takes her ten minutes to untangle herself from him before he lets her go reluctantly and follows her out of the room. He turns for his own bed chambers and Sansa makes for Myrcella’s.  She knew that Myrcella wasn’t going to be in a good place right now and she wanted to help the young woman any ways she could.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myrcella's fate is debated and Sansa begins lessons with Oberyn. In Westeros, a new power is rising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

“I _hate_ them!” Myrcella screams, her face red and haggard.  Tears stream down her cheeks as she rages, violence dancing in her eyes.

“Myrcella….” Sansa says gently while Ellaria keeps behind her. Ellaria has tried and failed again and again to calm the girl, who refuses to be calmed. “It’s best to let her get it out,” Sansa tells Ellaria quietly, “I know the feeling believe me.”

“I’m _nothing_ …I’m _no one_ …I’m _worthless_!” She snarls, “I’m a _bastard_.”

“ _Enough_!” Ellaria snaps, “you are a bastard _but so am I_. There is no shame in who you are. I’ve lived under that title all my life, and let me tell you…you will survive…if I can, so will you.”

“How could my Mother do this to us…” she says, dismay and heartbreak in her eyes, “How could she do this….I hate her…I _hate_ her!”

“No,” Sansa says, embracing Myrcella in her arms as the young woman sobs, “No don’t hate her…love her…as she’s always loved you…as she has done her whole life. She has given everything she could to make sure you and your brothers had a good life. She has done things she shouldn’t have…but she strived to protect you from it all her life.”

“Can you save her?” Myrcella presses earnestly, her blurry eyes turning up to meet Sansa’s desperately, “You’re the queen in the north…you can save her can’t you?”

“No,” Sansa frowns, “She is in the Crownlands…I have no power there Myrcella…I’m sorry.”

“What’s to become of my brother Tommen? What of our home? What about Casterly Rock?” Myrcella demands in panic, terror and sorrow and rage in her eyes.

“I don’t know,” Sansa frowns sadly and holds the girl while she weeps, her head in Sansa’s lap. She stokes her hair while Ellaria sends for hot tea and herbs to help the girl sleep.

“I have no home,” Myrcella says forlornly, “I have no family….it’s all gone.”

“You are safe here,” Sansa reassures her, “In Dorne they don’t look upon you as a bastard child but simply as a person like anyone else.”

“The bastards here still do not inherit…and oh… _oh no_ …” Myrcella weeps harder, “I shan’t marry Trystane…”

“I’m so sorry,” Sansa says, watching the heartache flicker across Myrcella’s face. Ellaria sees this and frowns, she can sorely relate to Myrcella’s plight. 

Sansa holds her through the night until she sleeps, and then sleeps beside her in bed in case the young woman wakes in the night. In the morning she eats breakfast with her and then takes her out to the gardens for fresh air. Doran has not decided her fate yet, and Sansa worries about what will be done with Myrcella. She knows they won’t hurt her, but she won’t be allowed to stay in the Water Gardens much longer she imagines. She is base-born and has no relation to the Martells. She would not be allowed to live here as Oberyn’s children do.

* * *

 

               Later that afternoon while she left Myrcella to rest in her bed chambers, she searches for Oberyn. He’s in the courtyard, a spear in his hand as he practices with Obara. Sansa watches for a while, admiring his lithe form in shining armor, his dark hair has grown out in a thick mass of black curls ending just below his ear now. Sweat sides down his temples as he moves; Obara is a fierce fighter and doesn’t let up on her Father. He is just as relentless, which Obara seems pleased with. When he catches her under the knee and flips her off of her feet, she lands with a hard thump on the sand beneath her, grunting in pain. He presses the tip of his spear against her throat and she freezes, eyeing him wearily. “Never let your guard down,” he says and steps away from her, his spear set aside as he helps her to her feet.

She moves in a flash and he isn’t expecting it, jerking him to the left with all her strength and tossing him to the ground. His own spear his held at his throat as Obara smiles down at him wickedly, grinning from ear to ear as she says “ _Never_ let your guard down.”

He bursts out laughing as she sets the spear aside and helps him up, sand and dirt in both their hair and armor. “Good,” he laughs as he pats her shoulder, “very good my daughter.”

When he notices Sansa he smiles at her and she smiles back, pressing his spear into the sand before he walks over to the shaded bench she sits on. He catches her up in his arms and kisses her, she laughs and kisses him back, sand and sweat on his lips. When he pulls away she’s got sand down the front of her gown and chuckles a little. “What can I do for you my love?”

“Myrcella is settled,” Sansa says as she watches Obara approach and wash her hands off in a basin before breaking into the food that was laid out for them earlier. Oberyn drops down into a seat near Sansa and listens, breaking a piece of bread off from one of the plates and listening. “She is afraid of course.”

“Of course she is,” Obara cuts in, “You Westrosi people are savage and heartless to natural born children. You call them bastards like it’s a foul thing you step in…here in Dorne we are called natural born, and we are loved and cherished as all children should be.”

“Yes,” Sansa agrees as she sits down, pouring herself a glass of honeyed wine, “however Myrcella is concerned about her fate. Has your brother decided what is to be done with her yet?”

“No,” he says thoughtfully, “but I have a feeling you have.”

“I want to take her in…Tommen as well if he survives…as my wards. I realize they will never inherit but I want to give them a home. They won’t have anything when the dust has settled, even if Cersei survives that trial…if her champion wins…what can she do? They know the truth of her children…she’ll lose Casterly Rock no doubt. Jaime cannot take it because of his vows. Though I imagine he’ll be stripped of all of it.”

“And do you plan on taking in Cersei too?” Obara sneers though there is amusement in her eyes, “Make her a servant in your household. That would teach her I think.”

“No,” Oberyn says to Obara, “Cersei Lannister if she is set free can make her own way in the world.”

“I agree,” Sansa nods, “but I won’t see her children turned out into the streets because of her stupidity.”

“If you take them as wards,” Oberyn continues, “you will need to provide them a home.”

“That’s why I’m asking you first,” Sansa says tentatively, “I want to see what you make of it before I bring it to your brother. If I can take back the North I will have a home for them.”

“Regardless of how you protect them they will be outcasts in Westeros,” Obara points out, “they will never live a peaceful life in the north, regardless of how you try to protect them. They would do best if you sent them to the sept. Have Myrcella become a septa and the boy if he survives…a maester…or you could even send him to the wall.”

“Myrcella is not yet even ten and five…” Sansa frowns, “I just want to see her safe. She would no doubt object to the life of a septa…but if it means she’d keep her head I imagine she could deal with it.”

“She can stay here,” Oberyn says after a pause, “In Dorne. She would be safest here, free to live her life as she pleased. I’m certain one of my bannermen would take her on as a servant….perhaps Ellaria could speak to her Father about it.”

Sansa felt such compassion for the poor girl; her life was turned upside down over night. She went from being a princess to a baseborn citizen in one day. “I will help her in any way that I can,” Sansa insists, “speak to Ellaria about it and I’ll do whatever I can for her.”

“What about the boy?” Obara comments, “Does anyone know where he is?”

“Probably being held in the red keep until Cersei’s fate is decided. If she dies…he dies with her. If she wins, she’ll walk free and her son will go with her. Though I doubt either of them will get very far without guards. Cersei will have to run if she intends to survive,” Oberyn says as he bites into a peach. Sansa can see the indifference in his eyes when it came to Cersei, and recalls again what Ellaria had said about vipers. Some part of her wondered silently if he had something to do with Cersei being discovered.

“Come,” he says, motioning to Sansa, “get a spear.”

“What?” Sansa blinks at him as he stands.

“If you are going to take the north, you need to know how to fight no?” he grins at her daringly, and she can’t help but take that challenge.

“I would need proper attire my prince,” Sansa points out, “I am dressed for court.”

“You will dance with me in a dress,” he says, “and then you will dance with me without one.”

Sansa knows he meant _armor_ , but she also knew judging by the wicked grin he flashes her that he was flirting with her. Sansa blushes when Obara rolls her eyes, and kicks off her shoes, walking down into the sand pit where he and Obara had been sparing. She takes up a spear as Oberyn asks a servant to fetch armor that would fit Sansa before turning to face her. Sansa can hardly lift the spear it was so heavy. She felt like a fool, but tried to stand up as straight as she could with it in her hands.

“Like this,” he says and stands behind her, positioning her stance and the place where her hands gripped the spear. Then he teaches her first position, slow and easy as he swings his own spear at her. Sansa blocks clumsily, her dress making things even harder to maneuver.

“Oh sod it,” Sansa says and presses her spear into the sand before she slides her gown off her shoulders, standing in only her breast wrap and small clothes. _Now_ she could move and Oberyn grins approvingly.

“Now you know,” he points out, “when you are hindered you must do something about it. You need to be able to move freely, if something is preventing you from defending yourself, get it out of your way.”

He swings his spear a little faster and Sansa scrambles to block, grabbing at her spear as quickly as she can and using the first position as he taught her. She’s not bracing herself correctly though, and falls flat on her butt. He laughs and pulls her to her feet and they try again…and again…and again…and right around lunch time he fits her for armor. At this point she’s exhausted and her arms ache but he won’t relent on her training. She wants to give up, she knows he’d let her go rest if she asked but she didn’t want too. To do that would be like saying that she wasn’t strong enough to handle war, and she wanted to show him she could handle war. She was strong enough to be queen, but she needed to be able to fight, she needed to be able to prove that to her bannermen.

“ _Again_ ,” Oberyn insists when she lands on her face, spitting out sand and dirt. Obara is cackling madly from the terrace, amusement in her eyes.  Oberyn is relentless in this, determined she get the first position right. “Come now Sansa,” he urges her, and she knows he’s taunting her just to get her to fight him. It’s both encouraging and tiring at the same time. “Fight me…you wouldn’t last a second on the battlefield like this. _Block_!” he demands and Sansa blocks, her arms shaking with the strength needed to hold him off.

“Good,” he says with a smile, “ _again_.”

_Oh sweet seven…_ Sansa thinks wearily.

 

* * *

 

“I understand my son is preparing for war,” he tells his confidant, a plump bald man who looks weary as he gazes upon the man before him. He knows who he is now, and it changes all the plans.

“He is your grace,” Varys says wearily, watching the one he thought to be Jon Snow pace the old ruins. He hated this place, it held nothing but bad memories and yet the man before him found it fascinating. It wasn’t any wonder why he chose this place for his headquarters. The first time he met up with him he thought the boy Jon Snow; he believed he was someone else. He had been tricked and now the sword which he kept so carefully protected was in the wrong hands. He wanted that sword for Aegon or even Jon Snow…not this man…not him.

“I wonder,” he says thoughtfully, “what he would make of me…of his brother.”

“No doubt he would resent the boy’s mother,” Varys says wearily, “as you recall…things went very badly for the Starks and the Targaryens after you…”

“Ran off with Lyanna Stark?” Jon Snow smiles with a smile that doesn’t belong to Jon Snow. Varys suppresses a shudder. He is afraid of this man, this man who’s found a way back from the dead and is undeniably dangerous. “I want you to keep tabs on him…tell me his movements. I want to meet this son of mine.”

“And will you seek to claim your throne with Jon Snow?” Varys asks tentatively, “after all…I believe he does have a claim to it.”

“Yes,” the other man agrees, “he does…but Aegon’s claim is stronger if he truly is my son.”

“I don’t quite follow your grace,” Varys says cautiously, “There was never any record of your marriage to Lyanna Stark.”

“I kept it hidden well,” he smiles at Varys, “Jon Connington took the documents with him when he left Westeros.”

“Why the secrecy?” Varys asks curiously, “Why hide it?”

“The dragon must have three heads,” he replies, “and my wife could no longer bear me children. I cared for Elia and I did not wish to risk her life any further. I needed a second wife and the sept wouldn’t allow it. My ancestors of old did it many times; I don’t see why I couldn’t. Besides that, I couldn’t very well set Elia aside for Lyanna without insulting the Dornes. We needed that alliance if I was to remain Prince of _seven_ kingdoms.”

Varys glares at his turned back, recalling the carnage that was caused by his actions. He doesn’t say anything in response so the other man fills the silence instead, “Varys…I will also need you to find me someone for me.”

“Who?” Varys asks, worried as to who that someone might be.

“There is a Stark still living,” he says thoughtfully, “and I would think that Lady Stark would be glad to see her sweet half-brother again.”


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa continues her lessons, Daenerys finds out about Aegon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

Sansa wakes to the morning sunlight in her eyes, muttering curses as she rolls over in bed and burrows deeper beneath the blankets. Her body was sore and overworked, and she was certain if Oberyn saw her she’d be back out in the courtyard before breakfast. She wasn’t avoiding him per say, but she wasn’t _not_ avoiding him either. She knew she needed to do this, she needed to learn to fight but what did it hurt if she slept in a little?

Apparently a great deal.

It wasn’t long until Oberyn was in her bed chambers, stripping the sheets right off of her. Sansa groans and burrows under her pillows until he takes those too. “It’s too early Oberyn.”

“Your opponents will not give you leave to sleep in my blossom,” he points out, “they will wake you in the middle of the night for battle if they must. Sometimes you will not sleep for days at a time.”

“Do my opponents enter my bed chambers and strip the bedding off of me if I refuse to get up too?” Sansa smirks, watching him grin back at her.

“They do if they’re clever like me,” he says wryly, “If they will not come to _me_ … _I_ will come to _them_.”

Sansa rolls her eyes and climbs out of bed, narrowly getting swatted on the back side as she passes him by. She struggles with her armor, trying to remember the names of each piece and how to put them on. After a while Oberyn helps her with them, mainly because she was taking too long and cursing a lot while doing it.

“Who are the flowers from?” he asks as he straps on her shoulder plate. Sansa peeks around the screen and spots the bouquet of orange summer blossoms on the table, blinking at them before looking back at him, “I thought that was you….”

“No,” Oberyn shakes his head, “didn’t you check for a note?”

“No,” Sansa says, “Your just down the hall from me…I figure if you wanted to tell me something you’d walk down here and tell me.”

He chuckles at her words and steps back once he is done strapping her in. Sansa combs out her hair and pulls it back in braids and twists to get it off of her shoulders and out of the way. While she does this Oberyn checks the flowers and finds a note on the table beside it.

“Your dragon is sorry for his words,” Oberyn muses allowed and tosses the note on the table haphazardly before walking back over to her. “The boy is a fool and as green as summer grass…pay him no mind.”

“My dragon?” Sansa laughs as she walks over and reads the note, “He’s hardly my dragon.”

“He seems to think otherwise,” Oberyn remarks thoughtfully, “I would not encourage him Sansa….he’s mad if he thinks he can take Westeros without dragons and I would not see you get hurt because of his stupidity.”

“If he thinks a bunch of flowers is going to make up for him being an ass to me in front of half the court he _is_ an idiot,” Sansa scowls a little, despite how much she actually did like the flowers. They were very pretty and Sansa made sure to keep them in water before she left with Oberyn to the courtyard.

 

* * *

 

“Again,” Oberyn’s voice is rough with command, and Sansa is shooting daggers with her eyes but does as he commands. Block, turn, step…turn…block…again and again and again…

“Obara,” Oberyn calls and motions for her to join them, “Spar with her.”

He turns and takes a seat under the terrace, over-seeing the match as Sansa and Obara spar. Obara is not so gentle with her, her swings are harder and faster and Sansa is getting knocked on her ass more and more. She is proud though, when she manages to trip Obara up and knock her down a time or two.  It isn’t long before Oberyn intervenes and starts her on position two, to which she uses in combination with position one, again…and again…and again….

By late afternoon Sansa is both covered in sand and sweat (with a little bit of blood considering how many times she fell) before Oberyn relents and lets her go back inside. She knows he means well, and would let her walk away the moment she said she was too tired to keep practicing, but she wanted to learn this…even if it meant she was absolutely miserable most of the day. When she reaches her bed chambers she finds Ellaria waiting, filling her bath with exotic oils and hot water.

“I knew you’d be tired when you came back,” she says, noting Sansa’s haggard appearance. She walks over and that’s when she notices what Ellaria is wearing…or rather what she _isn’t_. She wears a sheer black bath shift embroidered with gold patterns, and under it she was naked. She helps Sansa take off her armor and strip her clothes off. At this point Sansa doesn’t even mind, her body is trembling with the force needed to even climb into the bath tub. Ellaria unties the front of her shift and lets it slide off her shoulders, climbing into the tub with her. Sansa moves over but Ellaria’s soft hands catch her, pulling her back in front of her instead.

“What…” Sansa trails off at the feel of Ellaria’s warm hands, smoothing sweet smelling oil over her shoulders and back, pouring warm water over her head and back. It doesn’t take much for Sansa to relax against her, and Ellaria seems pleased with this.

“I do this for Oberyn when he comes back to me after a long battle or a sparring match. I think you will enjoy it as much as he does,” Ellaria tells her and Sansa suddenly has a magnificent image of him naked and sweaty, worn from a day on the battlefield…for some reason that makes her very… _very_ warm between her legs. “Does that make you wet my love?” Ellaria says near her ear, sliding her talented fingers across Sansa’s shoulders as she massages the knots away.

“I’m very wet,” Sansa muses aloud, “I’m in a bath tub.”

Ellaria laughs, nipping at her ear playfully as her fingers trail down Sansa’s stomach and slide against her woman’s place, “Oh you are _very_ wet my love.”

“It’s no good teasing me for something I can’t have,” Sansa says aloud.

“Perhaps you cannot have _that_ just yet,” Ellaria agrees, “but I have no cock to pierce your maidenhead my love.”

_Oh my….oh….wow…._

She’s never really been fully intimate with a woman before. She’s kissed Ellaria and explored her body but she never went quite that far with her yet. Her fingers are like magic though, pressing against the sensitive places between her legs. Sansa turn her head so that she might kiss her, their tongues sliding against each other in a battle for domination. If this was what Oberyn got whenever he went out into battle…Sansa might gladly run out into battle too if it meant she’d get to have this when she got back.

 

* * *

 

               She has faced down many foes in the years since she left Pentos. Now she is Khaleesi once more, twenty-thousand Dothraki screamers at her command. She has sworn vengeance on the ones who killed the girl she swore to protect and when they died screaming in dragon fire she knew her promise had been kept. Meereen was in chaos but she was going to take it back, with _fire and blood_.

As she over ran the city and drove the usurpers out, they kneeled before her. Her so called husband, the murderous leech who tried to steal her throne from her was put to death. Now it was settled but she also knew she could not stay in this place anymore. It was a struggle to hold Meereen, but now that they see her power they fear her. The Dothraki are a fearsome foe, and when they stand outside the city gates the usurpers trembled before them. When it was over she named a new Khal, one who would rule in her stead and sent them back to the great grass sea. She would oversee them; check on them from time to time while she ruled from Meereen.

“Khalessi,” Missandei was over joyed to see her safe.

“I’m fine,” Daenerys smiles at her dear friend, “truly…I am well.”

“I thought you dead…we all did!”

“I know,” Dany smiles, “But all is well…and we will settle the grumbling in this city once and for all.”

“Ser Barristan,” Dany greets him as they meet in her council room, “what news have you?”

“A great deal my queen,” he nods, “and might I say it is good to have you back.”

“Indeed,” Daario’s voice says from the hallway. Dany smiles at him, pleased that he is alright.

“You are well,” Dany says, watching him watch her.

“I was imprisoned after you left,” he explains, “but I have been freed now that you’ve thrown out those usurpers.”

“Good,” she says, though her mind is drifting elsewhere while she looks upon him. There were people still in the room, and when Barristan clears his throat she turns to look at him, a smile curving her lips.

“Now then,” Selmy says as he eyes Daario before beginning, “I’m not sure how you’ll feel about this…because I don’t know what to make of it myself.”

“Make of what exactly?” Dany says, stepping up beside Selmy to gaze down at the parchment he lays down on the table.

“The boy claims to be your nephew my queen,” he says, “and he’s already sailed for Westeros…he means to take the stormlands.”

“Where did this boy come from?” Dany asks, looking perfectly surprised and suspicious.

“He claims to have lived in secret all his life somewhere in Essos…apparently a plot of some sort to save him before the keep was sacked.”

“Why hasn’t he come to me?” Dany demands, frowning down at the paper, “if he were truly family why would he not come to me?”

“It would be difficult to prove I imagine,” Selmy surmises, “he couldn’t just show up on your doorstep and claim to be Aegon Targaryen. There are many who have hair and eyes like yours and your family in places like Lys and Myr.”

“I want him watched,” Dany frowns at the parchment; “I want to know his movements.”

“I shall inform my contacts,” Selmy nods approvingly, “would you perhaps like to contact him?”

“Not yet,” Dany says thoughtfully, “I want to know if this boy is who he claims to be….see if you can find anyone who knew him growing up…anyone at all.”

“Jon Connington is his caretaker,” Selmy says, “and he was a good friend to your brother.”

“Then find Jon Connington…I want to talk to him.”


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa receives good news and bad news.
> 
> A/N: Some more heavy smut in this chapter, and I'm seriously considering raising the rating because of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

The first fall of winter brings freezing cold, and even behind the safety of the red mountains, the blistering hot deserts of Dorne are not safe.  True winter was settling, and for the first time when Sansa went outside, it felt like she was back in the North. The breeze is shockingly cold; she’d grown used to the temperature in Dorne and now being outside was like being plunged into ice water. She pulls her cloak tighter around her, follows Ellaria down the palace steps towards the horses that were waiting.

“I’ve only seen winter once in Dorne,” Ellaria says as they ride out towards Sunspear, “and it was terrible.”

“I’ve seen worse,” Sansa replies, “I grew up in blizzards and snow storms…I’ve had to wade through waist deep snow just to get out to the library on occasion when I was a girl. Snow and ice is in my blood. Don’t worry,” Sansa grins at Ellaria, “if it gets really bad I’ve got a few of my furs still lying around that you can use.”

“I might very well borrow them,” Ellaria shivers visibly; the cold was hardly bearable for her.

“I wonder how far his grace has gotten across the sea before he realizes winter has finally come and he’s without a good thick cloak?” Sansa muses aloud. She’s taken to picking at him lately, only because he is constantly on her mind. His arrogance rubs her the wrong way and what makes it worse is that he sent her flowers to apologize. That shouldn’t be worse…any normal woman would love it…but it just makes her fume instead. Maybe it’s because she’s trying to stay angry with him, maybe it’s because she’s afraid he’s another Joffrey. If she shuts him out he can’t hurt her if she’s wrong about him.

“You like him,” Ellaria grins at her, “I can see it in your eyes….Oberyn used to set my temper ablaze too, he was arrogant and stubborn and gorgeous when I first met him and he had this amazing talent at pissing me off.”

“I hardly think were a match,” Sansa snorts derisively, “he’s arrogant and ridiculous, he thinks he can just…stride into Westeros and rip the carpet right out from under them…he’s completely mad.”

“You never know…he might surprise you.” Ellaria laughs.

“If he does manage it I’ll eat my shoe,” Sansa mutters irritably.

“I wouldn’t make any bets on that,” Ellaria laughs.

“Yes…don’t tell anyone I said that…if Aegon ever found out I said it he might hold me too it,” Sansa says with a mild grimace.

“Or maybe he’ll want a _kiss_ ,” Ellaria says slyly, a wicked grin on her lips.

“He can kiss the wrong end of my ruddy horse if he wants,” Sansa snorts, “I’ll not be kissing him.”

Ellaria snickers and Sansa bites her lip to keep from laughing more, the bannermen around them were starting to listen in and talk amongst themselves, some of them chuckling at what they hear.  They reach Sunspear near noon and take lunch indoors as it was far too cold to be outside any more than necessary.

* * *

 

 

After lunch Sansa meets with Prince Doran, who has requested her presence in Sunspear. He takes her off into his study, and once the door is shut they sit across from each other at his desk.

“Your grace?” Sansa asks curiously, watching him turn the opened letter over and over between his fingers.

“I have received a letter from Varys the spider….now I know he is connected with Prince Aegon…but oddly enough this letter is about _you_.”

“Me, your grace?” Sansa asks, confused.

“Yes,” he frowns at her, and stares at the parchment before looking at her, “I’ve received word from your half-brother Jon Snow…he is alive and well although he is in a bad place. He’s found out you’re here and wants to see you.”

“Jon is supposed to be on the wall…” Sansa frowns, “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Perhaps,” Doran says thoughtfully, “perhaps in the wake of his family’s demise he feels it is his duty to seek you out?”

Jon was alive.

It was like her heart would burst with joy, joy so strong she was weeping before Doran could get two words out. A smile was curving her lips and all she could think about was Jon. Jon was alive and she would see him again…her sweet bastard half-brother who she was always cruel too. She didn’t care what he was anymore so long as he was alive. When she saw him again, and she would…she was going to tell him how much she loved him and that she was sorry she was ever cruel to him.

“Can he come here?” Sansa asks politely, “please your grace…or perhaps stay in the shadow city somewhere?”

“No,” Doran waves it off, “he can come here. He is your family and he is welcome here of course. I will write to the spider and tell him to send him this way.”

“How did Varys find him?” Sansa says with wide and hopeful eyes, “Oh I have so much to do….I have to get a room ready for him and…”

“Sansa,” Doran smiles, catching the anxious young woman by the arm, “Sansa wait.”

“I’m sorry your grace,” Sansa blushes as she sits back down, “I’m just so excited…so _relieved_.”

“I am happy for you,” he says gently, “but I also have another letter from Roose Bolton.”

The smile drops off her face as he held up the sealed parchment and handed it to her, “You are the warden of the north and the lady of Winterfell to whom it is addressed…it is your letter to open.”

She breaks the seal with shaky fingers, and reads the contents:

_To Lady Sansa Stark,_

_I have received word that you have sent several letters to each of my bannermen concerning your claim to the north. I accept your claim Lady Stark, however as you are without a male heir and no husband to speak of, I cannot honor such a claim. I instead suggest this to you, that you wed my son, Ramsay Bolton so that you might solidify your claim here in the north. Unfortunately Winterfell hold has been destroyed in the wake of the Iron born attacks on the land. I swear to you I shall drive them out in your name and restore your home should you accept my son as your husband._

_I await your reply,_

_Lord Roose Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort and Warden of the North_

 Sansa stares at it and tosses it on the table for Doran to read, flames burning in her eyes. “How dare he….does he think me a fool?” Sansa scowls as Doran reads the letter.

“Apparently,” Doran sighs, “you mustn’t yield to this Sansa.”

“If I am Lady of Winterfell…” Sansa says thoughtfully, “I could name Jon as my heir.”

“You could,” Doran says tentatively. This wasn’t what was planned; he had hoped he could marry Oberyn to Sansa and thus claim the territories of the north and the riverlands for Dorne.

“What would you have me do your grace?” Sansa says, seeing the worry on Doran’s face.

“I would have you do as you feel is right Sansa,” he sighs, “although…originally…I think you know what I wanted.”

“You want me to marry Oberyn,” she nods and runs a hand through her hair, “I just….Jon will be here…and he’s my half-brother….if Roose Bolton can legalize Ramsay Bolton then I can legalize Jon, surely…I could name him Jon Stark.”

“In name you could,” Doran agrees, “Although it wouldn’t uphold against the crown or against Roose Bolton. He is warden of the north right now…I don’t know how long your claim would hold against him. Sansa…I’m not trying to sway you in either direction but allow me to lay down the facts for you. You are free to make your own decisions but at least hear me out,” he pauses, watching Sansa sit down and turn her gaze up to his face before he begins. “By marrying my brother you are a princess of Dorne…you would have the right to claim the north as your own and need no male heir to do it. By dornish law, you would be the eldest child still living and the north would be yours by birthright. You would have the full protection of Dorne; you would have an army at your disposal when you are ready to take your home back.”

_He was practically selling his brother to her like he would a goat or a piece of furniture at market…._

“I am very fond of Oberyn,” Sansa says and watches how Doran is suddenly very attentive, “I…”

“Please,” Doran says, holding a hand up, “I promised my brother I would not pressure you into this and I won’t. I merely want you to know your options. Ramsay Bolton would grant you your title of course but you wouldn’t have any rights thereafter to it. Your brother Jon couldn’t hold the title without being recognized by the crown as well.”

“Let me think on it…please…you’ve been so kind to me…you all have…I would not wish to impede on such kindness,” Sansa says softly.

“You do not impede,” Doran smiles at her, “you are my brother’s guest….what he claimed along with the death of Gregor Clegane. You are welcome here whether you marry him or not.” He says as he finishes the reply to Varys and sends it off with a raven. “Your brother should be here within a fortnight if things go correctly and the weather holds.”

“Oh thank you,” Sansa smiles, bright like the summer sun and Doran can’t help but smile too. She was so happy it warmed his heart to know that she was no longer alone in the world.

 

* * *

 

               When she returns to the Waters Gardens that evening she is happier than she has been in ages. She finds Oberyn and Ellaria in Oberyn’s private apartments, and she shows him the letter. “He’s alive Oberyn…and he’s come here…my brother’s alive!”

“That is good news my flower,” he says and kisses her, pulling her into his arms from where he lap propped on his elbow on his bed. Sansa curls into him instantly, pressing happy kisses to his lips and face. “I’m going to see him again…he’ll be here in a fortnight.”

“I thought your brother was on the wall,” Ellaria says curiously.

“As did I,” Oberyn agreed.

“Doran thinks that it might be that in the wake of what’s happened to my family he’s opted to leave,” Sansa says softly.

“He abandoned his post….” Ellaria frowns, “that’s treason no?”

“He may have been forced to flee,” Sansa frowns thoughtfully, “it may have been the Lannisters. There’s no telling how long he’s been on the run. Varys says he’s in a bad place right now…which means he must be in danger.”

“He will be welcome here in the Water Gardens,” Oberyn nods as he presses a soft kiss to her ear, “so that you might be close to him.”

“I look forward to meeting your brother,” Ellaria grins wickedly at Sansa.

“I think he would look forward to meeting you too,” Sansa smirks back.

“And what,” Oberyn cuts in, “Nobody would like to meet me?”

“Everyone wants to meet you,” Sansa laughs, pressing kisses to his neck and throat. It doesn’t take much to get him on his back so that she might have better access to his chest, pushing the fabric aside so that she might feather open mouthed kisses against his skin. “Would that I could worship you like this every night.”

“You could,” he suggests, “I would not object.”

“Only if I get to help,” Ellaria says as she crawls onto the bed on his other side, “the great prince…worshipped every night by two beautiful women in his bed.”

“A man has never been so lucky as I to have such lovely women in his bed every night,” Oberyn agrees, “I did well.”

“Arrogance,” Ellaria laughs, swatting him playfully on the arm, “but…you did.” She smirks at him and kisses him passionately, love burning in her eyes as she gazes down at him.

It really wasn’t hard to love him honestly.

Sansa had worked his tunic open, her fingers sliding over muscle and skin, marveling at the feel of his warm skin under her hands. He had a few bruises here and there, most likely from Obara sparring with him. Her searching fingers slide up his sides and down his arms, pushing his tunic from his shoulders. She thinks she would never get enough of this, being with him, touching him, hearing his voice. She wasn’t sure why she was so hesitant about marrying him. Maybe it was because there was a part of her that still trusted no one, that feared to love anyone. Her fingers untie the knot at the waist of his breeches and she pauses when his hands still hers.

“My love,” he says gently, “you don’t have to do that.”

“I want too,” Sansa says, her clear blue eyes meeting his dark ones, “I want too.”

His eyes darken at her words, and she thinks she loves the intensity in them. Ellaria strips off her dress and then rejoins them on the bed, her dark hair let loose down her back. She distracts him with languid kisses and Sansa presses kisses to his hips as she pushes his breeches down off of them, slowly revealing inch after inch of sun kissed skin, darkened in the heat. She explores him slowly, maybe too slowly. He shifts restlessly and it makes her smile, he was as hard as steel and when she slides a finger down over his cock it twitches restlessly for her. She experiments with different techniques, listens for what makes him gasp and what makes his hands twist into the sheets beside him. She uses her mouth and her fingers, learning every part of him slowly and languidly. Ellaria wastes no time take the opportunity of his mouth kissing other parts of her body, and while Sansa enjoys one part of him she enjoys the other. Sharing wasn’t going to be a problem, that much was clear.

In the morning Sansa wakes in a tangle of limbs, notices that they’ve both somehow stripped naked in the process and doesn’t even seem to mind. He had a beautiful body, this was the first time she’s seen him completely naked. She admires him for a while until he speaks, and she is surprised because she had no idea he was awake.

“When your brother arrives we will have to refrain from such activities while he’s here,” Oberyn muses allowed, “He will question your honor otherwise.”

“My honor is perfectly intact,” Sansa tells him pointedly, “you are an honorable man.”

He smiles faintly, “I am also bloody thirsty and savage…occasionally ruthless…I don’t think he’ll overlook those things when considering me as a brother in law.”

“He will accept you because I accept you,” Sansa points out, “Jon will like you.”

“Or you’ll what?” he grins at her, Ellaria stirring beside him. She grumbles and rolls away from them, covering her head with a pillow.

“I’ll still want you anyways and he can go pout in a corner for all I care,” Sansa says matter-o-factly.

“Just as long as it’s a corner within these walls and nowhere else,” Oberyn chuckles.

“Exactly…if he tries to leave I’ll probably cry,” Sansa muses aloud.

“Then I will endeavor to please him for you my flower,” Oberyn says, pulling her close so that he might kiss her again. Sansa curls in against him and smiles, her mind whirling with thoughts of her brother who would soon be with them.   

 


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa receives a gift and Jaime Lannister is miserable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

It is a cold day, one which Sansa actually needs her furs for. It’s been a long while since she needed a fur lined cloak, a mantle of stark grey wolf pelt sewn to the lapel and hung around her shoulders. It had belonged to her Lord Father and it was all she had left of him now, and wearing it made her feel safe and warm. It made her think of home and it still had the lingering scent of what only could be described as a wild northern musk, something she recognized with her Father. Oberyn had found matching black hide gloves, and Sansa was grateful for them. She felt… _northern_ …she felt like the queen she was supposed to be. Albeit how out of place she might look standing on a Dornish beach in the winter, wearing a fur cloak and gloves.

               It would be another week before he arrived or so Doran had told her. Two weeks had passed but Jon had been delayed in Braavos for reasons unknown. Ellaria and Oberyn remain indoors these days; they can’t tolerate the cold like Sansa can.  Today though, she stands on the beach and waits for the small row boat that’s head towards carrying a missive from Aegon about his progress and some other supplies sent back to Dorne for Prince Doran. Behind her waits a few of the bannermen, she would speak for Oberyn today as was requested of her. It was practice she supposed, he wanted her to learn how to rule a kingdom if she planned on taking one back. She was stronger now too, her muscles had stopped aching from the grueling training practices that she shared with Oberyn and his daughters.

“Lady Sansa Stark Milord,” She says as one of Aegon’s bannermen, a burly man whose banners had been pledged to Aegon when he took Storms End a week ago.  

“Milady,” he says and hands over the missive, “I’ve never been to Dorne…” he sniffs lightly as he looks around, “It isn’t as hot as they claim.”

“It’s much hotter in the summer Milord,” Sansa smiles politely, “I assure you.”

“If I’d known it would be this cold I’d have thought to bring my furs,” he mutters as his men unload the cargo for Oberyn’s bannermen to take. He glances at it and then at her, “Spices, fruits and gold…spoils of war. An offer to Prince Doran for his kindness to his grace.”

_Well it certainly looks like she’s going to have to eat her shoe after all…_

“Thank you Milord,” she smiles politely and bows her head before turning to watch the cargo be loaded.

“I was asked to give you this,” adds the lord whose name has still not been spoken, as if she were not worthy of knowing.

Sansa turns and blinks at what was in his hand, a brown leather pouch to which she takes and stares at it and then at him, “Milord?”

“I don’t know what it is,” he says with a shrug, “I was simply asked to see to it that you received it. I’m certainly glad you were out here, I wasn’t sure where to find you in such a great palace.”

“The Water Gardens can be a maze if one doesn’t know its halls,” Sansa agrees with a nod.

He nods thoughtfully and turns back for the boat, “Well I’ll be off then. We’re going to re-supply for the journey home and then be on our way.”

“Safe journeys,” Sansa calls, still waiting for a name and getting none. She watches him trudge back into his boat and sail away, leaving her standing on the beach staring after him. When he was out of sight she opens the leather pouch and finds a delicate silver chain inside bearing a tiny silver wolf with blue sapphires for eyes. It is beautiful she thinks, the sapphires match the color of her eyes perfectly. The chain was so light and soft she wondered what sort of metal it was made out of.  She puts it on, clasping the necklace gently at the nap of her neck and then tucking the pendant in under her dress. It is lovely, and regardless of how ass-nine the sender is, she wasn’t about to waste perfectly good jewelry.

They ride back to the palace, carting the wears inside once they arrive. It’s warmer indoors and Sansa is grateful of it, all but ready to climb into the fire pit in the center of the great hall just to warm her feet. Instead though she sits as close as she can, the heat warming her chilled nose and feet. It isn’t long before Myrcella finds her, wrapped in blankets. She is better now though much quieter and less cheerful. She leans her head on Sansa’s shoulder and Sansa moves to wrap her arm around her, pulling the younger girl closer. Myrcella has had it far too hard for a girl so young, much like she had. She would survive it, but for now Myrcella needed a friend, she needed someone she could trust and Sansa wanted to be that person.

               It was funny though, how the world works. Sansa had been rendered homeless, an orphan and penny-less in a matter of months by the Lannisters. Now she had the upper hand, and it was the Lannisters at her feet begging for scraps. Even after everything Cersei had done to her, she was willing to look after her children and keep them safe. She certainly hoped that miserable cow was grateful, and despite everything still _alive_. It moved Sansa to a curious thought about Jaime, and wondered if there was some way she could contact him. Myrcella needed her parents right now, and even though she’ll probably try to claw his eyes out for everything the twin Lannisters had done to their children, Myrcella would be all the better for having her Father with her.  Before long Myrcella leaves her side, they've hardly spoken two words to each other for two weeks. Myrcella is sullen and quiet and only seeks comfort but nothing else. Sansa watches her walk away sadly. 

               It isn't long before she hears Arianne,  soft graceful footsteps across the tiled floor as she approaches Sansa, dropping down beside her on the bench where she sits. “It’s freezing,” she says as she holds her hands up against the heat of the fire pit.

“Yes it is,” Sansa muses, waiting for Arianne to begin. She knows what this is about; this was about her picking someone. Somehow it had gotten into Doran’s head to start flinging Aegon at her too; maybe he thought she wasn’t hesitant about marrying Oberyn because of his age? Doran had started it indirectly over dinner one evening, mentioning Aegon’s progress and how he would require a queen. It went on like that for ages it seemed, and now he was sending his daughter after her too. Sansa was half tempted to just tell Arianne why she hasn’t decided yet. Doran probably wanted to know if she was going to pick someone before she grew old or not at all.

“So…” Arianne began lightly, “What are you doing today?”

“I’ve already done it,” Sansa says with a sigh, “Oberyn’s in a meeting with Doran and so I went to meet the messenger with Aegon’s missive.”

“Aegon,” Arianne sighs wistfully, “he’s such a lovely creature.”

“he is,” Sansa nods thoughtfully, “and arrogant…and stubborn…and rude…”

“All men are like that to some degree,” Arianne smiles, “Oberyn’s just as bad.”

“Oberyn _apologizes…_ with _words_ ,” Sansa points out, “and he never tries to lord anything over anyone.”

“Every girl loves a little pampering though I would think,” Arianne nods, “does my uncle not please you?”

There was no way to answer that question…

“He…pleases me…” Sansa thinks though her mind drifts elsewhere. He listens, he talks, he’s good to her….she trusts him…all good points. Sansa was afraid though, afraid to give him power over her. She didn’t want to give any man power over her ever again. A woman she be allowed to decide her own fate.

“I want…” Sansa grumbles and rubs her tired eyes, “I want…to be able to make my own decisions.”

“You want control,” Arianne nods, “I know that feeling. I will be the ruling Princess of Dorne after my Father…and I can’t describe to you what it’s like wanting to do things a certain way and have my Father trump every decision I make with some long lecture or explanation.”

“I trust Oberyn,” Sansa says quietly, “I’m just….after everything I went through….everything I suffered in Kings Landing you know…all I wanted was to _go home_. I didn’t want revenge; I didn’t want to rain fire and blood down on my enemies I just wanted to go home. Now I’m forced into this role…warden of the north…queen in the north….I have to take up this torch, I have to go to war if I want my home back. It’s the only way I’ll actually ever just get to _go home_. It’s the most frustrating thing.”

“You are not happy here in Dorne?” Arianne asks quietly, “I’m sure my brother would let you live in the North if you did not want to live here with him.”

“Arianne,” Sansa groans tiredly, “I thought _you_ wanted to marry Aegon?”

“I did…” Arianne says, giving up all pretenses, “but he’s not interested in me. He’s interested in you….please….spare my Father the anxiety and just _pick one_. Don’t make him try to force you into the same room together or dine together…he’s done that to me a few times and believe me he’s terrible at match making. He can’t just come out and say it can he? My uncle made him promise to let you choose on your own without anyone pushing you.”

“ _You’re_ pushing me,” Sansa says flatly.

“I’m _helping_ you,” Arianne grins at her, “I’m _suggesting_.”

“Your uncle and I are courting…isn’t that enough to calm his nerves?” Sansa sighs.

“You’ve been courting for _months_ Sansa,” Arianne tells her, “and yet you two aren’t even engaged.”

“Months…I’ve only know him for a few months….you’re asking me to spend the rest of my life with him Arianne….and…”

“It’s the children isn’t it?” Arianne sighs, “He has all these children and I’m sure it must be overwhelming.”

“No,” Sansa says pointedly, “it’s _not_ the children…I love his children their wonderful.”

“Is he too old?” Arianne guesses, and Sansa is slowly getting tired of playing this game.

“No,” Sansa groans, “he’s too handsome for me to be bothered by his age.”

“Then help me help you…maybe there’s something I can do,” Arianne urges gently.

“Arianne he’s not a _goat_ ,” Sansa sighs, “Oberyn is a person…not a goat….you sound like one of the venders at market.”

“Oh alright,” Arianne huffs quietly, “I just…you and Oberyn get on so well it surprises me you haven’t agreed to wed yet.”

“Thank you,” Sansa sighs, “now…would you like to have lunch with me?”

 

 

* * *

 

               Jaime Lannister has faced down storms and snow and mud all his life. He was knighted and made part of the Kingsguard, and thus his life has consisted on servitude to the crown and battles conducted during many different kinds of weather. Nothing prepares him for the misery of the dornish desert though. He is alone and his supplies run scarce. He has come so far, he can’t fail now. It began with Sansa Stark; he watched her misery and her suffering in silence for too long. She made him question himself and his morals; he wondered when he’d gone so far off track. He realizes it had been his beloved Cersei, his twin sister who had dragged him off of the path, corrupted his mind and twisted his thoughts to her bidding. She loved him and he her, but their love was slowly becoming toxic. He wasn’t devious like his counterpart, and long ago she wasn’t either. He loved a memory of her, a woman before suffering Robert’s idiocy, before either of them were bound to any oaths or sworn to any fealty. The day she married Robert he swore she’d never really belong to him and she promised him the same thing. Now the Cersei he knows isn’t the woman he loved, she is a shadow of herself.

               His children were in danger now, their secret was out. It was no use turning back; he had to let her go now. If he went back he’d be dead before he even made it to the city gates. Cersei would want him to find their children, she would rather die than see them killed because of he and Cersei. Now here he was, trudging through this miserable desert on the back of a horse alone, thankfully it is not as hot as it could be; winter was descending even upon Dorne. If he pushed on he could make it to the next holding by sun down, and maybe be able to send a raven to Sunspear. He hoped they would not harm her, and he doubted they would. He hoped maybe they would let him take his daughter and go in peace, and maybe they would. He knew he wasn’t the most popular amongst the Dornish citizens, especially the royal family.

May they have mercy on him…on his daughter.

 

 


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myrcella says something she shouldn't, and later on Sansa gets in trouble.
> 
> A/N: We shall be seeing the infamous Not-Jon in this chapter meeting Sansa for the first time. Be aware from here on out I will refer to him as "Jon" when people are talking to him, referencing him in POV however it's not really Jon obviously. Jon who is actually inside Ghost right now will be referred to as "Ghost" up until things get sorted out. :) Just so nobody gets confused about what's going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

“My love,” Oberyn says gently, wrapping a long lock of auburn fire around his arm and tugging it playfully to get her attention. Sansa grins, tilting her head backwards from her seated position near the window to look at him. “Staring out the window will not make your brother traverse the great expanse between Braavos and Dorne any quicker.”

“I have a strong will,” Sansa points out.

“It still won’t make that boat go any faster,” he chuckles as he presses a kiss to the side of her neck.

“Well if I leave these apartments I’ll have your niece to contend with,” Sansa muses aloud.

“I notice she’s been visiting frequently,” he nods, leaning back on the bed. Sansa hardly notices the women in his room or the occasional man. She knows who he is and what he likes and she won’t ask him to stop being himself for her sake. They giggle in the background and Sansa is grateful to have her back to him and Ellaria, least she catch sight of something she’d really rather not watch. It goes against everything she was ever taught, but she refuses to shy away from it. If she meant to marry him she would accept every part of him or none at all.

“Come and play,” Ellaria calls to her with a giggle as Oberyn catches her by the waist and pulls her back onto the bed with him.

It was honestly hard to think about _playing_ with either of them with her brother on her mind. She wondered what he was like now…what he looked like, how he sounded. The Sansa who had left Winterfell to be queen of Westeros couldn’t have given a passing thought to Jon Snow, but the Sansa of now wants him with her with every fiber of her being. Oberyn’s windows faced the sea, high up enough that she would watch for sailing ships headed towards port. They docked in the harbor of the greenblood, and from Planky Town Jon would travel to the Water Gardens. She wasn’t sure if she’d just missed the ships passing or if he hadn’t come yet. The whole reason she was even in this room while Oberyn had guests was because of the windows. Otherwise she’d make herself scarce; she wasn’t particularly good at swallowing jealousy, especially when he had women crawling all over him along with the occasional man. She promised herself she’d accept it, and she was….sort of. Oberyn was the kind of man that loved every kind of beauty in the world, and he saw beauty everywhere he went. She both admired him for it and was baffled by it.

               Part of her resisted sharing him with anyone but Ellaria because she saw Ellaria as hers too. If she married Oberyn she was marrying Ellaria and she had no problem with that. She did of course, have a problem with women and men (even if they were really very handsome) snaking around in her husbands bed. She knew he’d stop if she asked him too, she knew he’d keep it to just she and Ellaria but Sansa didn’t want him to change himself just to suit her; she wanted Oberyn as he is and not someone she wants him to be.

“She’s using us for your windows,” Ellaria grins into Oberyn’s neck, eyeing Sansa thoughtfully.

“Yes,” Oberyn agrees loud enough for Sansa to hear, “I feel so unloved….overlooked for the use of a window.”

“I’ve hardly overlooked you,” Sansa laughs as she glances back at him and sorely wishes she hadn’t. An eye full of naked man was a surprise but Sansa recovers easily. He is from one of the sighing houses; a handsome sandy dornishmen with dark eyes and dark hair, and Sansa’s almost tempted by him. Oberyn grins at him; uttering something in heavy dornish and Sansa looks away again and back towards the sea. Eventually she gives up her quest and leaves Oberyn and Ellaria to enjoy themselves, her soft peach colored skirts swaying around her as she walks. On her ankle she wears a gold bracelet, a gift from Ellaria. It jingles when she walks and she likes that, it made her feel more dornish and less out of place. Most of the women in the court and in the shadow city are decorated in heavy jewelry, glittering gold and bangles. She is bare foot, she’s given up wearing shoes in doors because it was more comfortable for one thing and for another her feet wouldn’t be warm either way.

Her dress was new as well, Ellaria helped her design it. It connected on her left shoulder and the fabric was draped across her chest, leaving her right shoulder bare. Ellaria gave her gold arm band shaped like a snake twisting up her arm. She felt exotic like this, her auburn hair let free and twisted with braids and pale pearls. She still wears the silver necklace Aegon gave her, despite how it clashed with the gold of her arm band. She kept it safe beneath the neckline of her gown, the warmth of the small silver wolf resting just above her breasts. It reminds her of who she is under all the dornish decorations, and she wonders if she could live at peace being both dornish and northern.

 

* * *

 

                              Its early evening when the messenger arrives, alerting the household that their guest would arrive within the hour. It’s bizarre to think Jon has learned such manners, but then again she imagines he’s probably changed just as much as she has over the course of the passing years.

Maybe he remembered her lessons.

She hoped he was alright, Sansa muses quietly. The palace had been so quiet lately save for the few things that needed to be done. She wanted a little less silence and a little more laughter again. Myrcella never laughs anymore regardless of what she does. Trystane sits with her or at least has tried too, and Sansa can see he misses his friend.

“Myrcella,” Sansa says, catching up to the young woman as she wanders the empty halls alone.

“Yes,” she says, watching her approach.

“Go and talk to Trystane,” Sansa urges gently, “he misses you.”

“I am not meant to be in his presence,” Myrcella says quietly, the slightest hint of bitterness in her voice, “I’m baseborn.”

“Stop it!” Sansa snaps and the younger woman jumps at the sharpness of her voice. “You are not worthless. Just because your natural born doesn’t make you a doormat for people of higher birth! You are Trystane’s equal here in Dorne, you may never be allowed to marry him but you are free to be his friend.”

“And then what?” Myrcella says icily, “Be his _whore_ like Ellaria is to Prince Oberyn?”

“ _Myrcella_ ,” Sansa says in such a voice that resembled her mother’s that it even surprises Sansa, “don’t you _ever_ let me here you speak ill of Ellaria Sand again. The Martells have been kind to you, they put a roof over your head, they give you the food from their table and they give you leave to play with their children…”

“We give you clothes to wear,” adds Obara from somewhere behind Sansa who grimaces at the sound of her voice. She didn’t want anyone to find out Myrcella had said that. “You ungrateful little brat,” Obara snarls darkly, “how _dare_ you speak ill of my Father’s Lady in such a manner.”

“Obara,” Sansa says tentatively, “she spoke out of turn but she’s hurting…”

“I don’t care,” Obara frowns at Sansa, “She speaks ill of our family.”

“I’m sorry,” Myrcella says so softly that Sansa and Obara both have to strain to hear her, “I’m just….I really…wanted to be with Trystane. It will never be….because I’m just…baseborn.”

“You were worthy of him even as a baseborn child,” Obara says pointedly, “So stop sulking and live your life. Fuck the unworthy who say you are dirt beneath their heels. My sisters and I are called Sand snakes by you Westrosi people. We might be the dirt beneath their feet but we are snakes and shall strike their heels when they dare to tread on _us_.”

When she walks away they can only stare at her retreating back. After a pause Sansa glances down at Myrcella, surprised to see her smiling. “Wait…did that…”

“It made me feel better,” she says softly, “she’s right….who cares what I am….I’m still _me_.”

“Exactly,” Sansa nods watching the young girl hurry after Obara. She really hoped that Obara did take her under her wing. Maybe she needed someone strong like Obara to snap her out of it, because while Sansa had compassionate words she had no real actions to connect them with. Being around Obara is like a breath of fresh air.

“My lady!” a servant comes running, setting off every alarm in Sansa’s mind. “My lady!”

“Yes,” Sansa says, “what is it…what’s wrong?”

“He’s…oh my…please,” the servant says, panting heavily, “he’s fallen from his horse!”

“What!” Sansa stares, looking panicked, “Who and where Imra,” Sansa says, recovering quickly as she trys to get the information out of the alarmed servant.

“The…lordship..the guest…” she breaths out, “I ran all the way here…I was with the greeting party.”

“Where is he,” Sansa says, her heart hammering in her chest, “where is he Imra?”

“Out…” she doesn’t even finish before Sansa is running for the palace doors, giving up all pretenses of propriety. She has no patience for this woman, no time to wait for her to catch her breath. She will find Jon on her own and figure it all out later.

 

* * *

 

               She runs barefoot down the palace steps and out across the red and white sand, scanning for a horse, a person… _anything_. That servant wouldn’t have run for long, so he must be close. She doesn’t even hear the shouting behind her; she hears the hammering of blood in her ears. She wasn’t going to lose him now that he was so close; he wasn’t going to die on her. She doesn’t run for long, ignoring the rough sand beneath her soft feet or the ice of the wind on her bare skin. She sees him, a lump of black fur and leather in the distance, propped up against a great sand colored rock near the surf. His horse is wandering nearby, and two or three men stand close as they wait for help from the house.

“Jon!” Sansa all but shouts, the men who were waiting with him all turn at once, not expecting her. She doesn’t even bother with them, diving straight at Jon as she drops to her knees, her wild red hair like fire in the cold wind as she assess his injuries. It looks as if his arm is injured but hopefully not broken.

“Sansa,” he says as he sees the panic on her face, “Sansa I’m fine….Sansa don’t cry…I’m fine.”

“Of course your not fine,” Sansa says gently feeling for fractures, “you fell from your horse.”

“I’m alright,” he says, catching her cheek with his uninjured hand, “I’m really fine…”

She meets his dark gaze and she smiles, nodding a little as she relents from him. “Sorry.”

“Where’s your cloak?” he frowns, looking her over, “and your _shoes_ …it’s freezing out here.”

“I just…they said you’d fallen and I wasn’t even thinking,” Sansa laughs a little, her warm breath visible in the cold night air; “I’m such a goose aren’t I?”

“Not at all,” he laughs a little, “You were always more like a finch…the noisy ones that sat in the tree each morning, you remember?”

“Yes,” Sansa laughs and wipes the tears from her cheeks, “I was always talking when we were children.” Sansa can’t tear her eyes away from his face. He was so _Stark_ , so very much like her family it hurts her heart just looking at him. “I missed you…and I’m so sorry Jon…for _everything_ …I was so awful to you.”

“Its fine Sansa…” he waves her off, “Let us get inside and settled and then we can talk.”

Sansa nods, her pale face streaked with tears and her hair pulled free from the braids. He touches a strand of her hair, noting the string of pearls weaved into it, “these are pretty.”

“Thank you,” Sansa smiles, “a gift…from Prince Oberyn.”

“Please,” he says as he pulls his cloak open, giving her room to slide in under it. She fits easily, curling against his side as he pulls the cloak down with his good hand over the both of them. “You’re going to get sick out here like that.”

               They hear the horses in the distance, riding hard against the wind. Oberyn leads them, and pulls up shortly when he sees Sansa beside Jon.

“Sansa,” he says pointedly, “you should not have run out here alone.”

She was in trouble….she could see it in his eyes. She probably shouldn’t have run out here, he was right. Oberyn took these things seriously; she was supposed to be under his protection. “I’m sorry,” Sansa says quietly, “Jon…they came and told me he was hurt and I just panicked…”

“I cannot protect you if you run off like this,” he says quietly, no longer Oberyn but the prince of Dorne instead. His face is solemn as he approaches them, gazing down at Jon and then at her. “Jon Snow I presume.”

“I am your grace,” he says as he gazes up at Oberyn, “I would bow but I took a rather hard fall.”

“So I heard,” Oberyn says as he eyes his wounded arm, “Can you still ride?”

“I can,” he nods, “I was just catching my breath.”

“I wonder,” Oberyn says as Sansa helps Jon to his feet, “how did you fall?”

“My horse scared,” Jon says, “I didn’t see what startled it.”

Oberyn’s face is tight; the lines of his face visible even in the moonlight. He regards the young man as he uses his good arm to haul himself back onto his horse, settling like any seasoned rider. Sansa follows after him, intending to ride with him but Oberyn catches her by the arm and tugs her towards his horse. “Ride with me Lady Sansa,” he says as he motions towards his horse, “Your brother will need all of his balance to manage the reigns with one arm.”

Sansa doesn’t fight him; she knows he’s angry with her. He helps her onto his horse and then climbs on behind her, Sansa sitting side saddle just as she was taught, Oberyn’s arms around her as he holds the reigns.  When they move out he is quiet but she can feel his steady breathing behind her, his warm breath near her ear. “I’m sorry,” she says softly, only loud enough for him to hear.

“You frightened me,” he says quietly near her ear, “you ran out of the palace without any warning or explanation. You didn’t even tell me you were going…you just _left_.” His voice is harsher on the last word, his accent thicker when he’s angry.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, “I was so scared…Imra told me Jon fell from his horse and I just….I wasn’t thinking Oberyn _I’m sorry_.”

“Imra should have come to me _first_ ,” he scowls, “I do not hold you to blame for that, but you should have not left the palace without me. How am I to protect you if you go wandering out into the night like that with no guards?”

“I’m sorry,” Sansa repeats yet again, can still feel the tension in his body behind her.

“I am the Lord of the Water Gardens, it is my domain. I would not wish to command you in anything Sansa, but if you disobey this request of mine again I will see to it you have a personal guard set aside specifically for you from there on after. Where you go, they will go.”

“I understand,” Sansa says, feeling like a scolded child.

“Is your brother a good rider?” He asks after a long silence, Sansa keeping her head ducked a little to brace against the cold breeze.

“Yes,” Sansa says quietly, “he rides north beyond the wall all the time.”

“I wonder how he fell from his horse,” Oberyn muses only loud enough for her to hear, “Sand steeds do not scare.”


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Jon get reacquainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Sansa**

It is a drizzly afternoon, dim gray light filtering through stained glass windows, giving faint light to the deep red of the room they were in. The walls were painted a deep red, and hung with tapestries depicting ancient battles and historical moments of the Martell family. Sansa trails her fingers over the stained glass windows, following the curves of the carefully decorated depictions of desert flowers and rushing rivers. In the bed behind her Jon rests, his dark gaze following the movements of her hand as he speaks, “They’re beautiful aren’t they?”

“Yes,” Sansa says in reply, a small smile curving her lips as she glances at him, “I’ve spent hours just looking at them. There is so much to see in Dorne Jon…they have such amazing art work…such beautiful architecture.”

 “They also have snakes and scorpions, violent sand storms and blistering heat,” he smiles at her and she gives him a look to silence his remarks.

“You mustn’t just see the flaws though,” Sansa says as she walks about the room, “it’s like a diamond in the rough you might say. When I first came here the heat was nearly intolerable and I was sick for days. Once I got used to it I dared to venture out into the shadow city and found such… _life_. Jon there is so much life in Dorne.”

“You’ve been hanging around Prince Oberyn too long,” Jon smiles.

“I’ve embraced his culture,” Sansa counters easily as she walks over to the bed and sits down on the edge, her gaze shifting to the sling his arm was currently in. “How is it?”

“Hurts,” Jon sniffs lightly, “It’ll mend though.”

“Jon,” Sansa begins tentatively, “what happened at the wall?”

“They tried to kill me,” he says darkly, his gaze shifting to the color of the bed sheets beneath him. They were the color of a ripe plum with a touch of burgundy to them. “The senior members…they tried to kill me. I suppose I deserved it…by their standards. I was made Lord Commander of the nights watch, I don’t know if you heard?”

“That’s wonderful!” Sansa smiles, catching his free hand in hers and holding it warmly between her hands as he continues.

“Yes,” Jon nods, “It was. They found out what I was doing with Stannis….I was getting involved with matters of the realm as they called it…and so they tried to kill me… said I was to be executed for my crimes against my brothers…that I betrayed them because I wanted to help Stannis, who was going to help me take back Winterfell.”

“But surely they must have understood,” Sansa protests gently.

“No,” Jon shakes his head, “I swore an oath and I broke it. The brothers of the nights watch take no heed in the matters of the realm, our cause is solely to defend the wall. I broke the oath and the penalty for it is death.”

“So you ran,” Sansa surmises, understanding in her eyes.

“I barely escaped with my life,” Jon says quietly, “I have the scars to prove it.”

Sansa shifts further onto the bed, hiking up her skirts to draw herself closer to him. She curls against his side and he lets her, her head on his shoulder. He touches the soft fabric of her gown, a shimmering soft pink with a hint of gold. “They’ve been good to you here.”

“Yes,” Sansa agrees, “Oberyn is a good man.”

“I suppose this is where you’re going to try and convince me he’d make a good brother in law too?” Jon grins a little and Sansa matches his grin with one of her own.

“Only if you agree to it,” she says gently, “If I marry him I want your blessing…I want you at our wedding too.”

He takes a deep breath and sighs, relaxing back into the pillows behind him with Sansa following. She was keen to stay close to him these past few days, relieved to have him here. “Oberyn isn’t all a good man Sansa…he’s done a lot of questionable things.”

“I know his past,” Sansa says softly, “He’s told me everything.”

“He also has eight children trailing behind him,” Jon points out, “and a paramour. Are you willing to take on eight children along with his lover?”

“Ellaria is good to me too,” Sansa blushes, watching the realization dawn on Jon’s face as he blinks down at her.

“You….” He starts and watches her nod, a grin curving her lips.

“Oh…wow…” he says, as if trying to process the information, “I see.”

“I realized it one day when I was with Margarey….she was just…the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen….and she was so kind and charming…and her smile could light up a room. Everything about her just… _glowed_.”

“Don’t let a pretty face fool you Sansa,” Jon says thoughtfully as he gazes down at her, “behind those pretty faces lives clever people. They know how to manipulate others with a kind smile and a sweet gesture.”

“You sound like you know from experience,” Sansa points out, quirking an eyebrow.

“Oh yes,” he agrees with a nod, “I’ve seen it.”

“Tell me about it,” she asks curiously, watching him debate the question for a moment.

“Not yet,” he says softly, “someday…but not yet.”

“Alright,” Sansa sighs, resigned not to pressure him. They sit together for a long while, chattering away about the world and what they’ve seen and done. The glittering at her throat attracts his eye for a moment and his fingers catch the silver chain there, the tiny wolf pulling free from under her dress for him to see.

“Where did you get this?” he asks, looking at the necklace with a hint of surprise.

“Aegon gave it to me after he took Storm’s End,” Sansa says as she tucks the wolf back under her dress.

“It suits you,” he nods and looks away, his eyes distant for a fleeting moment.

“The sapphires match my eyes perfectly,” Sansa agrees, “he’s trying very hard.”

“You should give him a chance,” Jon says softly, “he might surprise you.”

“I wanted to climb over a table and clobber him over the head with my shoe the last time he was here…I seriously doubt that will happen,” Sansa laughs.

“Opposites attract,” Jon counters easily with a smile on his lips, “he might drive you mad but you might end up loving him for it.”

“I doubt that,” Sansa says skeptically.

“You never know,” Jon shrugs, “Just go easy on him. It’s hard enough for a man to talk to a girl without her threatening him with her shoe all the time.”

“Oh shut up you!” Sansa laughs as he raises his good arm to shield himself from her, a grin curving his lips.

 

* * *

 

**Jon (Not-Jon)**

 

She’s an odd creature he thinks, watching the red haired woman nap beside him. She’d drifted off somewhere in the middle of a book he’d brought with him, a novel he’d snagged in Bravos. It was on the history of Westeros, a plethora of knowledge that he enjoyed himself. She’d been reading it too him when she started to drift off in between sentences. It was late anyhow; he might as well go to bed himself. He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the Stark girl the first time he met her, wild auburn hair flying in the wind like a cascade of dragon fire in the night. She had been sick with worry, frantic and anxious. It was apparent she had loved the boy, to what extent he wasn’t certain. She had a certain way about her, she wasn’t by any means as graceful or as lithe as Arianne Martell, nor did she have the haunting beauty of Ashara Dayne. Yet she was something different he thinks as he eyes the fabric of her gown and the way her blue eyes are so bright and clear like the summer sea. She reminds him of a Lyseni goddess, she was built to love people.

               She loved fiercely and absolutely, and even after everything that was done to her in Kings Landing (to which she’d given him an account of) he was surprised she was still capable of such compassion. She was unshakeable, and no matter how the waves crashed against her shores she did not break. He thinks that the Martell family motto would suit her well, for she was exactly that. He examines her as she sleeps, curling his fingers into her auburn locks. Her hair is like silk in his fingers and her skin was as pale as snow fall and kissed by the sun. She’d been in the sun frequently here no doubt, and now it was starting to show. She was slim and supple, but she had none of the strength in her Lyanna possessed. Lyanna had been fierce and strong and she wasn’t like Sansa Stark, who was delicate and gentle.

               Yet there was something else inside Sansa Stark too. He saw only flashes of it, flashes of the wolfs blood burning bright in her veins whenever she was angry. It made him think that maybe she wasn’t all soft curves and delicate words, but like Lyanna there was steel beneath. Lyanna had surprised him in that sense, where he saw a woman of wild beauty, a woman who wept as he played the harp. He thought her delicate in that sense until he discovered her, and once he knew her secret he knew she was different. It was a dangerous move on his part to give her the wreath, but it was also his way of acknowledging her bravery in the face of his Father, in the face of the odds against her. Elia wouldn’t have understood and he knew that, he saw the hurt flash across her face. Elia had loved him dearly; she had loved their children fiercely too.

He had loved them too.

“Jon,” Sansa murmurs and blinks up at him sleepily as he lets her hair slide from his fingertips.

“Yes?” he asks, leaning away from her.

“You shouldn’t have let me fall asleep like that;” she smiles sleepily, “to think if someone caught me sleeping in your bed.”

“Now doubt they’ve caught you with Oberyn,” he remarks and suppresses a grimace when she frowns up at him. He shouldn’t have said that, Jon would obviously have no idea what she’d been up to here with the viper…but _he_ would. He knew Oberyn as a young man, and he knew what that young man got up too frequently. It was clear the moment they met he wasn’t any different, albeit a little more mature.

“Jon,” Sansa says pointedly, completely awake now, “I am still a maiden.”

“Good to know,” he recovers quickly, does his best to look completely abashed by her statement, “I wasn’t implying that you weren’t.”

“It certainly seemed that way,” Sansa frowns at him, “Oberyn would never compromise my honor in such a way.”

_I’m sure he’s compromised you in other ways though…_

“I would not place such a harsh judgment on him Sansa,” Jon agrees, “I do not think he would dishonor you that way.”

“I’ll not hear poor talk of Oberyn,” Sansa reminds him softly, “He means a great deal to me…and he is a good man regardless of his reputation.”

“You have such faith in people Sansa,” Jon says with a half-smile, “you’re determined to find the good in everyone aren’t you?”

“Yep,” she grins at him as she kisses his cheek before climbing out of bed, “Good night then.”

“Good night,” he says as he watches her depart, her long red hair swinging behind her as she walks. It’s gotten longer than he can last recall, the last memory Jon had of her was in Winterfell. Now her hair is well past her waist, tied back in braids and decorated with ribbon, the ends curled delicately. She was nigh on nearly nineteen now, almost a woman grown. She’s older than Lyanna had been, but Lyanna had been wise beyond her years. When she shuts the door quietly behind her, he strips out of his clothes and puts out the candles. It will be hard to sleep with his arm aching as it was…but it was his own damn fault anyways. He’d pushed himself to hard, he wasn’t sure what kind of limits he had with this body. He wasn’t even sure if this was permanent, if he could keep it. He just knew that he needed to be careful.


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon meets the rest of the Martell family and he and Oberyn have a long discussion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Oberyn**

He is older but still very green, Oberyn thinks as he watches Jon Snow ready himself for sparring. He invited the young man out to the courtyard for a match, and is now glad he did. His battle skills were obviously honed but for close combat he chooses a poor weapon.

“That sword will do you no good in close combat,” Oberyn points out as Jon picks up his sword, a finely crafted Valerian steel sword with a wolfs head handle.

“It is my sword,” Jon says, “It has served me well.”

“Maybe in the north your people use such unnecessarily heavy weapons in combat,” Oberyn replies, “but in Dorne we do not need such weapons to prove our worth.”

He pulls from a hanger two curved short swords, shimmering in the morning light though the blade is dulled. He offers one to Jon, who takes it reluctantly before the two of them step into the sparring circle. When they begin he is restrained in his attack, giving the boy space to block and turn if needed. He figures he won’t be used to the weight and his coordination will be wrong.

He surprised however, but the boys tenacity. He is clever with a short sword, more so then he expected. The morning air rings with the sound of blades clashing, the sand crunching and shifting beneath their feet as they move.

“Practice will be needed before either of you return to the north,” Oberyn points out, “you’re good,” he says as he blocks yet again, “but you lack coordination.”

“You’re teaching my sister to fight?” Jon says, his brow furrowed in concentration as the two men dance I the courtyard, blades glimmering in the sunlight.

“I’m teaching her to defend herself,” Oberyn counters easily.

“My sister isn’t made for the battlefield,” Jon argues, “she has no business in war.”

“Sansa is queen in the north,” Oberyn replies, “and her people must see that. They must see their queen stand with them.”

“Sansa would be killed out there,” Jon argues, “she’d be a sitting duck, an easy target for any green boy or seasoned warrior out to make a name for themselves.”

“Not when I am done with her,” Oberyn grins slyly as he kicks Jon’s legs out from under him.

“She’s not going out there,” Jon says firmly, “I won’t allow it.”

“You are not her keeper,” Oberyn argues, “Sansa will make her own decisions.”

“She’s my responsibility,” Jon says vehemently, “she is _my_ sister.”

“And she is my guest,” Oberyn counters, “and you would do well to remember that. It was I who kept her safe all this time while you sat on the wall, watching your home burn and your family murdered.”

“I had no choice,” Jon scowls at him lowering his sword. The two men stare each other down for a moment before Jon adds, “I swore an oath. Obviously I broke it...I was helping Stannis Baratheon. He was going to legalize me as Jon Stark and marry me to a wildling princess in order to obtain the numbers we needed to take back the north. He was going to help me take back Winterfell and my brothers found out…the senior members of the watch turned on me…I was forced to run.”

“So now we come to the truth of it,” Oberyn says, regarding Jon thoughtfully, “I was wondering when you would come out with it.”

“I just wanted to help my family,” Jon says with a sigh.

“My family has no love for the Baratheons,” Oberyn points out, “Robert Baratheon’s rebellion is the reason my sister and her children are dead. Now, you will answer me this question and from there we will decide which way this conversation goes. Do you still align yourself with Stannis Baratheon’s cause, or will you stand with your sister and side with the Targaryens?”

“She stands with Aegon?” Jon says, his eyes thoughtful.

“Yes,” Oberyn says, his black eyes sharp upon him, “and if you are wise you will agree with her.”

“The Lannister child is here isn’t she? If you are so against the Baratheon and Lannister cause why does she remain within these halls?” Jon counters.

“She is no child of Robert Baratheon,” Oberyn smiles coolly, “she is the natural born child of Jaime Lannister.”

Jon falters at this, something shifting behind his gaze as Oberyn regards him. “Cersei Lannister and her twin…”

“Yes,” Oberyn smiles at him with that same cool regard as he continues, “I imagine she felt that since the Targaryens could do it…so could they. Look at them now….her son Joffrey was as mad as King Aerys had been.”

“That may be,” Jon voice takes on an edge Oberyn doesn’t like, his dark eyes cold beneath a mantle of black curls, “but unlike the Lannisters, the Targaryens are harder to kill.”

“True,” Oberyn agrees as they hand over the sparring swords to a servant before retiring indoors for breakfast, “but they were scattered just as easily. Now I will ask you only once more and then I will resort to different methods of extracting information,” Oberyn says darkly, “Where do you stand?”

“With my sister of course,” Jon says firmly, “I will always stand with my sister.”

“Good,” Oberyn nods, “then we will discuss this no more.”

“I don’t see why she is required to marry you though,” Jon adds as Oberyn turns away, “If we side with Aegon he is family enough to you. We would swear fealty to him and that would be the end of it.”

“The marriage is required for peace Jon Snow,” Oberyn points out, “our two families have great animosity between them if you recall. It may not be your sister’s fault for what her parents had done in their youth, but your Father is partly responsible for the deaths of my sister and her children. He helped the butcher king murder the Targaryens and take the iron throne. A marriage between us would sooth the anger between our families and mend the hurts caused by it.”

“Surely there is another way,” Jon argues, “your twice her age.”

“I may be that,” Oberyn says with a tilt of his head, “but she does not object to it. If she would not have me I would not force her, but your sister does not turn me away.”

“You expect her to turn you away after everything?” Jon scoffs, “she would be a fool to say no. You provide her with all that she needs right now, to turn you down would be foolish.”

“I would not cast either of you out should she deny me,” Oberyn says, regarding Jon coolly, “I am not the kind of man to treat women in such a way. She will have a home here so long as she needs it and she knows this.”

 

* * *

 

**Jon (Rhaegar)**

 

They walk together into the great hall where they dine with the others for breakfast. He sits across from Sansa, who smiles cheerfully at him before filling her plate. Afterwards he follows Oberyn to the armory where he is introduced to the captain of the guard.

“This is Areo Hotah,” Oberyn motions to the man behind him, “he will see to your armor and weapons.”

               He has never been fond of light armor. Light armor made you faster but it didn’t defend as well. However there were exceptions to that rule, as heavy armor can fail you just as easily….he would know. When Oberyn leaves him too it he takes his time to sort out what he wants. The body he inhabits needs to be protected if he is to succeed in his plans. The boy Lyanna bore him carried the blood of the Starks and the Targaryens, his song was the song of ice and fire…or it should have been.

               He would have to start again he supposed, and Sansa Stark was the last of her line. He couldn’t allow her on the battlefield, he refused to risk last of the winter blood line because of a fools irrational ideals. Sansa wasn’t made for the battlefield; she was too soft, to gentle for such things. She wasn’t strong like Lyanna had been, she had a gentle heart. Lyanna he might have risked, he knew she was skilled with a sword and less likely to be killed. Sansa on the other hand, needed to be protected; she needed to stay out of the fight.  His son or so he has heard, was in Storms End. Aegon Targaryen they called him, though he would like to see proof first. If the boy is truly of his bloodline then he must wed Sansa Stark, Aegon must carry on what he’d begun nearly twenty years ago. Jon Snow fell in battle but his death would not be fruitless. He was brought back into this world in his son’s body for a reason, and now he understood what that reason was.

He must not fail again.

 

* * *

 

**Sansa**

 

She admires herself in the mirror, her auburn hair partially tied back and curled into soft ringlets down her back. Tonight Prince Doran would dine with them, and Jon would be introduced to Oberyn’s family. Over the past few days she could see the tension between Jon and Oberyn, Jon didn’t approve of him. Jon never said it so directly, but it was the littlest comments that made his disapproval known. He commented on his age, on his children and his household. He frequently brought up his paramour, who Jon didn’t mind him having until he also brought up the other lovers Oberyn has. Jon wanted a man faithful to Sansa alone, a man she wouldn’t share with anyone else.

               That had touched a chord in her, one she tried to smother into silence constantly. She knew that her heart slowly, piece by piece belonged to Oberyn Martell. The thought of leaving him behind stole her breath away in sharp despair. Yet there was a tiny part of her, a small voice in the back of her mind that longed to have him to herself. To know that it would be her he would turn too, that if forced to choose she would be his choice. She noted the triumph in Jon’s eyes as he saw the glitter of doubt in hers, knew that he’d finally gotten through to her in some small way.

“May I come in?” she hears him knock, his voice soft through the door.

“Come,” Sansa says as she pins her hair neatly into place and straightens her gown. It was made of soft sand silk the color of the midnight sky, decorated with myrish lace and shimmering crystals. Jon stands at the door; she can see his reflection in the mirror as she smiles at him warmly.

“How do I look?” She says, giving a small twirl for him to see.

“Lovely,” he says in an agreeable voice as he outstretches his arms to display the doublet given to him. “And I?”

“Handsome,” Sansa smiles, “I’m quite proud of you, you know. You look like a proper lord.”

“I am a proper lord, technically speaking…at least in the north I am,” Jon shrugs, “or was.”

She steps closer; standing only inches apart from him as she straightens the ties of his doublet and smooth’s the fabric over his arms, “perfect,” she murmurs appreciatively, her elegant fingers sliding over the silver embroidery at the collar of the tunic underneath.

“You fret over me too much,” he chuckles as he catches her warm fingers in his, kissing the tips of them delicately, “thank you.”

Sansa blinks at the gesture before he wraps her right arm in his and leads her out into the great hall. There is music and laughter this time; it was no quiet family gathering. Sansa loved music, and admired the high harp they had brought out for the occasion.

“I can play that,” Sansa muses allowed, “Or at least I could once. I loved to sing too…” she drifts faintly in her memories before adding, “I dearly miss our home sometimes.”

“As do I,” Jon agrees with a nod, “though it is best not to dwell on the past.”

“Where should we start?” Sansa says near his ear, her eyes shifting around the room, across the sea of faces.

“We should start as decorum demands sweet sister,” Jon points out, “with his grace first…and then his family.”

“You remember your lessons Jon Snow,” Sansa beams, “I’m so very proud of you.”

“I had an excellent teacher,” he remarks lightly as they step arm in arm before Prince Doran.

“Your grace,” Sansa begins with a curtsey, “I present to you my half-brother, Jon Snow.”

“It is a pleasure,” Doran says with a slight nod towards Jon, “Oberyn was just telling me all about you.”

Sansa sees the looks that pass between Oberyn and Jon and she wonders quietly what might have transpired between them earlier. Ever since Jon had returned from sparring he’s been put off of Oberyn.

“I hope nothing to terrible your grace,” Jon smiles politely, Sansa’s arm still firmly held with his.

“Oh nothing of the sort I assure you,” Doran returns the smile and yet Sansa can tell he’s saying something without words, something that she wasn’t aware of yet.

“Well that’s good to hear I suppose,” Jon smiles, “If you will excuse me your grace, I believe my lovely sister would like a dance.”

“Of course,” Doran nods with a grin, “please…enjoy yourselves.”

Jon nods politely and then leads Sansa in the next dance, twirling her gracefully across the floor. She has wonder in her awes as they sway together, a smile curving her lips. “I didn’t know you knew this dance…I remember teaching you a few northern ones…where on earth did you learn it?” Sansa asks curiously, “I hardly know it myself.”

“Oh here and there,” Jon shrugs, “I’ve been busy.”

“So I see,” Sansa says, pleased with his good luck. Stannis must have really been grooming him for leadership. When the song ends and dinner is announced they walk arm in arm to the table in the other room. They are served roasted beef with dragon peppers and sour dornish wine. Sansa tries not to giggle at the sight of Jon, his face pinched after sipping from his goblet.

“Bit sourer than I remember it,” Jon says casually.

“That is real wine,” Oberyn remarks lightly from down the table, “none of the sweetness of Westeros to dull the taste.”

“Mind how much you drink,” Sansa murmurs quietly, “I’ve had to be walked back to my chambers a time or two because of it.”

“I doubt I will have a problem with over consumption,” Jon says, setting the goblet back down on the table and mustering the most dignified expression he can.  There is laughter at the table, Oberyn’s children bickering and talking amongst themselves as they fill their plates. Arianne and Ellaria going round and round about the state of Loreza’s skirt hem and Doran laughing with Oberyn about a childhood story. This was a proper family, Sansa thinks as she watches them all. She was seated between Oberyn’s children, Obella to her right and Nymeria to her left.  Jon took up a conversation with Nymeria, which doesn’t really surprise her. Nymeria is beautiful and charming, her dark eyes fixed on Jon. He’s good at conversation now too she thinks; he’s careful with his words and doesn’t speak out of turn anymore.

“Dance with me,” Oberyn’s voice is by her ear and she starts, she wasn’t even aware he’d come up behind her. She takes his hand and leaves the others to eat dessert, the sweet smell of cold cream and honey mixed with oranges.

               They sway to the music; dornish music was so much more sensual than northern music. It required partners to be closer or farther away depending on the song. Sometimes the dance is about resisting temptation and sometimes it’s about passion. This song in particular was making her warm, Oberyn’s hands sliding over her hips and waist, down her arms as they turn and then pulling her against him, her own hands sliding up onto his shoulders as he lifts her, swinging her gently half-circle before setting her down again. It took her a while to learn this dance, she and Myrcella went over it again and again one afternoon while everyone was busy and they had the great hall to themselves.

“Your brother doesn’t care for the wine,” Oberyn muses, his warm breath near her ear.

“In the north we drink sweet wine or warm beer…dornish sour never really makes it so far north,” Sansa says, swallowing the urge to kiss him. He was making it too easy to turn her head and slide her mouth against his, which of course was the point of the song they were dancing too.

“Then you have been robbed of the delights of Dorne,” Oberyn tells her as the song ends and he sets her down on her feet. He guides her back to the table, back to the dark eyes of her brother Jon as she takes a seat across from him. Oberyn kisses her knuckles and bows like a proper Prince of Dorne, Sansa blushing at the honor.

“Bit lascivious for a dance,” Jon comments as she takes a sip from her goblet.

“It’s refreshing,” Sansa says with a happy sigh.

“If you wanted refreshing we could have gone out there and done the northern clap,” Jon grins at her, “That would have really given them a show.”

“A rowdy bunch of half drunken men and women clapping as they dance in a circle is not nearly so much fun as you think Jon Snow,” Sansa laughs, “I remember the last time we danced that…poor Bran nearly fell flat on his face when Ser Rodrik had a bit too much to drink and almost knocked him over.”

“Yes,” Jon smiles, “I remember that…Bran couldn’t have been more than six…seven I think? Poor Ser Rodrik was humiliated.”

“Father had to walk him back to his rooms,” Sansa giggles lightly, “and the next morning he spent near an hour apologizing.”

“To which Father waved off because he loved Ser Rodrik dearly and wouldn’t have dismissed him anyways,” Jon finishes with a grin.

 

They go on like that most of the evening; the guests get louder as they drink more and laugh more as they dance. It isn’t until near past midnight before everyone goes to bed. Sansa is warm and comfortable when she wakes later on, the sound of delicate strings being plucked in the corridors of the hall. When she finds him he is alone, wearing only a sleeping tunic and pants. He is concentrated on the high harp between his knees, plucking at the strings with expert fingers. She sits and listens, and probably listens for what feels like hours. The sun is barely a glimmer above the horizon when he notices her, and she just watches him continue to play.

“I didn’t know you could play…” Sansa says softly, watching him.

“I learned,” he says quietly as he plays, “I picked up a lot of things during my travels.”

“Jon it’s remarkable,” Sansa says in quiet awe, “I can’t even play that well.”

“I composed it myself,” he says softly, humming along with the tune as he plays, “I heard it once in a dream I think…and it was so beautiful I had to write it down.”

“Have you named it?” Sansa asks as she walks over to stand beside him, her eyes fixed on his fingers as he plays.

“No,” he murmurs quietly, “what do you make of it?”

“I think it’s lovely…and sad…” Sansa says softly, “does it stir you the same?”

“Yes,” he agrees, “I don’t know why I dream of such sad music.”

“Sad or no…you have a talent in you Jon Snow…and if I knew you played this well I’d force you to play for me every night,” Sansa teases lightly.

“I’ll remember that,” he smiles faintly without looking at her, his eyes on the strings as he plays. He seems eerily unfamiliar to her in the dim light as he plays, his dark hair in his eyes and his pale skin like moonlight. He doesn't seem like Jon anymore for a flashing moment, he was so different sometimes, so different in ways that Sansa could have never imagined in Jon.


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys makes a decision, Sansa surprises Oberyn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Daenerys**

When word came to her that Jon Connington was with Aegon at Storms End, she made a decision.  She called a meeting of her council, and handed out the orders. She set aside four thousand of her unsullied, a retainer of the second sons and with her she would take Drogon. 

“I will fly ahead to Storms End and meet this boy who calls himself my nephew,” Dany told Barristan pointedly, “In a week’s time I will send a letter hence to you on whether I want to mobilize the troops and set sail. How long till the ships are ready?”

“Give or take a few days,” Barristan said solemnly. He was weary of this decision; they had only just managed to regain control of Meereen. “My queen, it is not for me to decide what you do, but may I speak freely?”

“Of course,” Dany says, watching the older man thoughtfully, “I would always welcome your advice.”

“To send away your army when we’ve only just regained control of Meereen,” Barristan tells her calmly, “is a dangerous choice….suppose they rebel?”

“They will not,” Dany reassures him, “If they do they will face twenty-thousand Dothraki. I have sent word to Khal Jojai that he is to send a retainer of his people to guard the city gates. If the people rebel my remaining unsullied and the Dothraki will contain it.”

“As you wish,” Barristan nodded though he didn’t liked it, “I will do as you command. It will take me some time to round up the army and prepare for war. I will strive to ensure we are ready in a week hence. I will go and send word to the harbor now and alert our fleet. They will need time to supply the ships for the journey.”

Dany nods thoughtfully, gazing down at the map sprawled across the table, “I must leave tonight….tell Daario of my plans for me…he will be upset that I have left him without word…but I must do this.”

“As you wish,” Barristan nods. He was distrustful of the sellsword as is, and anyone with eyes could see that Daenerys was in love with him. He would be too much of a distraction for her should he join the fleet.

               It takes time to pack but once she is ready she departs astride Drogon, the cold night wind in her hair as she soars high above the city. It is a long flight to Storms End she thinks, and only stops a few times during the trip to check the map she carries with her. She has never been to Westeros, nor as she ever seen the place to which she visits. It is a foreign land for her, a land unconquered. After a day she reaches the sea, the cold narrow sea below her, shimmering in the sunlight as the reflection of a great black dragon soars overhead. This boy king who claims himself Targaryen will tell her the truth of the matter, least he face dragon fire.

               It starts to rain as it gets dark, and Dany is soaked to the bone before she ever sees a shoreline. Two days have passed since she crossed from land to sea, and now in the faint distance she can see land. Staggering jagged cliffs in the distance, soaked by rain stood stubborn against the howling wind. Drogon lets loose a roar so great it would shake the bones of any man below them; swooping towards the lights she sees glimmering in the distance. A great castle stands in the storm; heavily guarded it looms like a great black cloud. The men beneath her flee like ants for the safety of their nest, cries of fear and panic mingling together in a strange symphony of noise.

               When Drogon lands it shakes the ground beneath his feet and Dany sits astride his back, tall and proud though drenched in rain. She is shivering from cold but fights to suppress it, looking down her nose at the men below her.

“I come for the boy who claims himself my nephew,” she says firmly, “Where is he?”

“I am here dear aunt,” he calls in return, a tall man with silver hair and vivid lilac eyes descends from the great stone steps of the castle to greet her, “I have long been awaiting you.”

“Have you?” Dany says, an eyebrow quirked in thought, “and how come you by this name you claim is yours?”

“Please,” Aegon says as he holds both hands up in surrender, “come inside and out of this rain dear aunt and I will tell you all that you wish to know. You must be frozen stiff.”

“If I consent,” Dany warns, “and you turn on me, Drogon will kill you all.”

“Oh I have no doubt,” Aegon agrees, “he is a fearsome beast for sure.”

               Hesitantly she dismounts, Drogon lingering near the shoreline as she approaches Aegon. She has never met her brother Rhaegar and she wonders if this boy king is what Rhaegar might have looked like. He offers her his arm but she walks past him, eyeing the great dark castle before her. When they step inside the castle is filled with men and women, servants feeding the troops and heavy armor and weapons piled on the tables.

“We make for Dragonstone on the morrow,” Aegon tells her as he leads her to the high table where he and his banners sit, “they have all sworn fealty to me, the bannermen of the stormlands. They are mine now as is all the lands surrounding this castle. Tomorrow we take Dragonstone and with your help dear aunt it will be done with little to know casualties save for those who resist.”

               They dine on roasted pig and fruit, mingled with the taste of sweet summer wine brought up from the cellars. Aegon tells her of his conquests, of his adventures on the greenblood and his meetings in Dorne. When all is said and done Dany doesn’t know what to make of him. There was no hard evidence to prove his birthright, but nothing to denounce it either. The boy seemed adamant about who he is, and she was certain he truly believed it himself. Still, she would be cautious. She could use his armies in this battle, and if she somewhere along the way discovered any falsity’s she could do away with him and take his army and his banners for her own.  No honorable man would stand behind a pretender, and all know that she is a true Targaryen.

She would send word tonight to move her armies towards Westeros, and tomorrow she would see her family’s seat of power for the first time.

 

* * *

 

**Sansa**

It was her name-day today. She was nineteen, but as she gazed in the mirror she didn’t feel much older. She was slowly developing a woman’s body, her breasts were heavier and her curves more prominent. She’d almost forgotten today was her name day, what with everything going on. They had received word from Aegon that Daenerys Targaryen had joined him on his conquest. Dorne was preparing for war, their ships and armies preparing to depart. She felt as though she’d become the fifth wheel in this well-oiled machine, she was just one person with no army of her own and only a title. A title that was absolutely worthless until she managed to regain the north and the riverlands.

               Oberyn said it would be seen too, as she would travel with he and Jon across the summer sea to Dragonstone. She had never seen a dragon before, Sansa thinks idly as she straightens the hem of her skirts. It was an exciting thought to know she’d finally see one, but also a dreadful one knowing that she would also face Daenerys Targaryen herself. Oberyn had promised her safety, had said that Aegon explained it all to Daenerys and that no harm would come to her upon arrival. This also leads to her next problem of the day, and that was a proposal. She knew she’d made up her mind a long time ago about Oberyn, that she wanted to take him to husband. Now it was a matter of bringing it up, and a matter of getting the words out correctly. Jon had been put out by her decision but acquiesced to it all the same.  Now she was preparing for said proposal, wearing her best gown made of sheer soft silk the color of a winter peach, her auburn hair let loose in waves of curls and partly pinned in the back.

               She hoped in the long run she hadn’t waited too long. Part of her was still hesitant about this marriage, Jon’s voice like an echo in the back of her mind.  The rest of her wanted him, all of him…the good and the bad. He was twice her age but she really didn’t care; he was perfect to her anyways. She was going to surprise him when he returns from sparring practice. Ellaria knew what she was planning, and conveniently took Jon to the shadow city for the day, giving him a chance to pick up any supplies he might need and get some fresh air.

               She made her way to Oberyn’s private apartments, amusing herself with his harp while she waited for him. Oberyn was musically talented or so she discovered over the course of her stay here. He liked to write songs and poetry just like she did.  She lifted the beautifully wood carved instrument into her lap and played for a while, idly turning her gaze out the balcony doors and enjoying the icy breeze that fluttered the long dark tapestries. When he arrived he was worn and tired, but amusement glittered in his eyes when he saw her.

“And what have we here?” he says, smiling at her as he pulls his armor off.

“I’ve come to surprise you,” Sansa says, “I’ve had the servants prepare a meal for us in the solar.”

“Have you?” he says with a grin, “I sense my flower is up to something.”

“I am,” she grins at him, “I also had them draw you a bath as well.”

“It is a good thing,” he agrees, “I do not think you would find me so pleasing when I smell of sweat and filth.”

“Where is Ellaria?” He asks as he steps behind the screen to strip off his underclothes.

“She took Jon to the shadow city,” Sansa explains, “she said she needed fresh air.”

“Yes,” he agrees as Sansa hears the splash of water and his hiss of pleasure from the heat of it. It’s been cold in Dorne as of late, so cold that they’ve kept all the windows and doors shut, trying to keep in the heat.  “My love,” he adds after a moment, “close the balcony doors its freezing.”

Sansa sighs a little and sets the harp aside to close them; it had gotten horribly stuffy inside the palace as of late. She hears him laugh a little before saying, “You will get plenty of icy wind when we set sail my flower. Plenty of storms for you to stand in.”

Sansa blushes at the last part, remembering the madness that overtook her as she stood on deck in the storm that swept over the sea on their way to Dorne. She listens to him splash as he washes himself, and takes up the harp again to play. She hums as she plays, trying to sort out the tune she remembered Jon playing the other night. It takes her a few tries, trying different strings and different tunes until she can match the pitch just right.  She feels his eyes on her, and realizes he’s out of the tub and sorting through his clothes, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist.

“Where did you learn that?” he asks, watching her fingers dance across the harp strings.

“Jon was playing it the other night…I thought it was beautiful…mind you he did so much better. I don’t think I’ve got the tune just right yet….” Sansa frowns at little, switching notes.

“No…higher,” Oberyn remarks as he walks towards her, taking her hands gently as he moves them to the right strings, “light and delicate…nothing forceful…the song is a gentle one.”

“You know it?” Sansa says, brightening, “would you teach me?”

“Yes,” Oberyn says as he gazes down at her, “I just…haven’t heard that song in a long while is all. It surprised me that anyone would know it anymore...least of all your brother.”

“Jon doesn’t particularly scream _artist_ , does he?” Sansa laughs a little, “He always seemed like a brooder too me…very quiet and solemn.”

“And apparently a secret musical genius,” Oberyn muses as he steps behind the screen to dress.

               Once he is dressed they make for his private solar, finding lunch laid out for them already. They eat near to each other, as there is no sense is sitting on opposite sides of the table without guests. They laugh and jest about light hearted things, until they finally fall into an easy silence while they dine. It’s easy to sit with him and say nothing and feel completely comfortable, simply enjoying the others presence. Finally, nearing the bottom of her wine goblet she finds the nerve to say something along the lines of what she’d intended to do today.

               Before she can get it out though he’s standing and her moment is slipping away, like sand through her fingers. He bids her to wait and retrieves something from his study, moments later presenting her with a delicate silk pouch.

“What…” Sansa trails off, holding the soft plum colored pouch.

“It is your name-day, no?” he says with a wry smile as he takes the pouch and opens it, letting the anklet slide into his palm. It’s made of gold, not overly extravagant as Sansa was never keen on such things, with a delicate flower pendant made of fire opals and pale moonstone. He catches her ankle lightly in his free hand and gently clasps the anklet in place on her right foot.  He presses a warm kiss to the delicate bone of her ankle before releasing it. “Happy name-day my flower.”

“It’s…” Sansa says, lifting her skirts to gaze down at it. “It’s _beautiful_ ….thank you,” Sansa smiles, leaning over to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I love it.”

“I am pleased,” he says as he leans back in his chair, “I wanted to find a stone to match the color of your hair.”

“It’s perfect,” Sansa grins, the tips of her ears turning pink.

“Now,” he says as he fills his goblet, “I think you were going to say something?”

“Oh…” Sansa pales a little, suddenly finding all the words have fled her mind. He watches her patiently while she musters her nerve, until his warm hands catch hers and he cocks his head to once side to regard her thoughtfully.

“You look distressed,” he says gently, “what ails you?”

“Nothing,” Sansa smiles nervously, “I just…well…” She meets his gaze and lets out a sigh, watching him watch her. “I would….if it’s still open…or…”

_Just say it…say it…_

“I would…..consent to marriage,” she swallows thickly, “If you are in agreement.”


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wedding is in preparation and stress runs abound among the occupants of the Water Gardens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Oberyn**

She is dressed differently today. She has taken great care in combing her auburn hair until it shone like flames in the hearth, and her lips and cheeks her lightly rouged. Her bright eyes are even brighter in the afternoon sunlight, and he wonders what his flower was up too. When she surprises him with a late lunch he admits he is pleased, he was actually quite hungry. Today was her name day, and he had a gift commissioned for it long ago. He had planned to dine with her this evening, but now was as good a time as any. He likes the sparkle in her eye when she looks upon his gift, the happy smile curving her lips. He thinks he would like to make her smile like that more, any chance he got even.

               He can’t help but feel like Ellaria had helped her plan whatever she was up too, as his lover was conveniently out for the day with Sansa’s brother. She is nervous and quiet and he wonders what she wants to say. Many times she’s tried to say something, only to stop short and ponder it some more. He wants to reassure her but doesn’t know what she’s getting at. For a moment he thinks she means to leave him, she has been distant lately with Jon here, and he can tell by the way Jon speaks of him that Jon doesn’t approve. He can’t blame the boy really, he was twice her age and had a long and bloody reputation.

               Yet he silently hoped this wasn’t goodbye, though quietly his heart whispered that it might very well be. She looked as if she might flee from the room any second, and that was sure enough sign as any that this was something she was having trouble getting out. His heart was breaking quietly as he waited, gave her the space and time to organize her thoughts. When she finally speaks, it isn’t what he’s expecting to hear. It takes him a moment to process it, and he sits back in his seat to gaze upon her lovely face, nervous and worried that it was.

* * *

 

**Sansa**

When he doesn’t say anything she sits frozen for a moment, and her heart hammers in her chest like a war drum. Minute by minute her hope is fading, his gaze is somber and serious as he looks upon her. Finally he leans forward and catches her hands in his, kissing each fingertip lightly as his warm dark eyes remain locked on hers. “I would gladly take you to wife if you would have me.”

“I would,” Sansa says, a nervous sigh of relief rushing from her lips, “I really would.”

“Are you certain?” he lets the question hang in the air for a moment before adding, “I would not want you unhappy.”

“I’m certain,” Sansa nods with a soft smile, “I am.”

“Then we have only to make the arrangements,” Oberyn tells her as he stands up and catches her up in his arms, kissing her passionately. Sansa is surprised by this but has no qualms with it, returning the kiss with just as much fervor.

“We’re leaving for Dragonstone,” Sansa says when he sets her down on her feet, her lips swollen from his kisses.

“Yes,” he nods, “but I will take you to Dragonstone as my princess.”

“Would we have time?” Sansa blinks up at him.

“We will manage,” Oberyn says as he wraps her arm in his, the two of them walking down to the atrium languidly. “We have a good two weeks before we depart. That is enough time to prepare for a wedding.”

 

* * *

 

**Jon (Rhaegar)**

               When she tells him of her decision he’d been cross. Her bloodline was being wasted upon the dornish, when it was really meant for so much more. He consented though; he had difficulty not surrendering when he saw the look in her eyes. She looked as if she would cry should he deny her, and so he opted to allow it and would work around it. Now he sits with her in her apartments, watching her be fitted for her gown. He smiles now and then, making comments about the fit and the color just to please her, though his mind was elsewhere.

               He’d caught her playing it, the song he’d written. He hadn’t realized she had such an ear for music that she could pick up the tune without the composition like that. It appears he’d met his match in music, and he must be more careful next time. Oberyn didn’t seem alarmed by it, so perhaps that was a good sign. Even if the mad dornishmen said anything he had an easy excuse.  He was running out of excuses though, and the more he let slip the more it became obvious. He needed to restrain himself, to keep to the boundaries his son had set.  His son had none of the musical talent nor artistic inspiration he did, neither did he enjoy books or poetry. It would be difficult to entertain himself with only a sword and sparring practice, though he was a talented swordsman he wasn’t keen on the exploits of his son’s youth.

               Jon should have never been there in the first place, and had he survived his son would be living in the red keep where he belongs. The whole damn war had been for Lyanna, he’d meant to kill Robert Baratheon and end the fighting by taking Lyanna to wife, he’d done it already in secret but a proper ceremony would be needed for the kingdom to accept her.

               Sansa looks so pleased, like any bride would be days before her wedding. The whole palace was in an uproar, food and drink and flowers being carried to and fro, even Sunspear was in the middle of preparations. The formal wedding was to be performed in the high sept, and then afterwards the reception is to take place inside the great hall of Sunspear. Afterwards, Sansa would be carried off by palanquin to the Water Gardens to be prepared for her wedding night. The dornish had a tradition for that, where the bridegroom would have to fight his way to her side with the help of the men of the court including himself and Prince Doran no doubt.

               Sansa’s ladies would be waiting on the palace steps, guarding the doors to the Water Gardens. They would force the men to play games with them, sing songs to them and do any little thing that comes to mind until the women are satisfied and would allow the prince to see his bride.

It was a long and tedious tradition he thinks, so much more complicated then what they would have done in Westeros.

“Jon,” Sansa cuts into his thoughts, watching him curiously, “Where is your mind? I was asking what you thought of the embroidery?”

“It’s lovely;” he smiles reassuringly, “anything you wear is lovely.”

She blinks at him and he inwardly winces, that remark had seemed a tad lewd or even flirtatious. It was true though, Sansa Stark had a gentle beauty to her, he had never encountered anyone so kind since Elia. When her back is turned he drinks her in, the curve of her hips and the soft swell of her breasts, she was developing a woman’s figure now, and she would make a fine wife for anyone. She was for Aegon though, he reminded himself. Aegon’s blood was purer than Jon’s; he would have her for Aegon before himself if he could.

“All done,” the seamstress beams and Sansa turns in the mirror, her eyes full of wonder and joy. He has to admit she is beautiful, with the right make-up and proper jewelry she’d look like a true princess of Dorne.

“You must mind the train milady,” the seamstress warns gently, “do not get it caught in the door of the palanquin.”

“Oh I will,” Sansa nods, “thank you…and now,” Sansa says as she turns towards Jon, “it’s time he be made ready for my wedding.”

“Oh no,” Jon smiles and holds up a hand, “I’ve plenty to wear thank you.”

“You’re _not_ going in black Jon,” Sansa points out, “You must wear Stark colors as I will be, you and I represent our house.”

“I’m no Stark,” Jon points out.

“You are too,” Sansa argues, her beautiful face turning sorrowful, “you are my half-brother and all I have Jon Snow, you _will_ be wearing the mantle of the Starks.”

“If I must,” Jon groans allowed, “I really don’t see what’s so wrong with what I have.”

“It’s old,” Sansa tells him pointedly, “and worn out. This is a royal wedding; you can’t show up dressed for the wall.”

“We are of the north,” Jon teases her lightly; “we must present ourselves as such.”

“That’s not funny Jon Snow,” Sansa says as she points at him, “you shan’t be teasing me like that.”

“I shan’t,” Jon concedes with a slight bow of his head, “as milady commands.”

 

* * *

 

**Daenerys**

 

Tears, unbidden well in her lilac eyes. Her fingers slide across cold jagged stone, walls that echo centuries of Targaryen history. She was _home_ , a home she has never seen before but now understands why Viserys longed for it so. She weeps for her brother, he will never see this place, and he will never know what great things she has done for her family, what she has done for him. Her brother who beat her, who hated her for killing their mother, had been twisted by misery and despair and turned against her because of it.

“I will take our home back brother,” she murmurs quietly to the empty corridors, to the walls that echoed so much history. The very room she stands in is the very room Aegon the conqueror died in. He’d collapsed in this room from a heart attack or so she had been told, at the age of sixty-four. His son Aenys took the throne after him and Maegar his brother after him. The whole keep sings of a family lost in the seas, lost in a time long ago. She would bring it back though, with fire and blood. Below her very feet is dragon song, Drogon’s voice carries throughout the caves below, inside an ancient stable built for dragons. “I am no betrayer,” she adds softly to the dimly lit rooms and corridors of the keep, “I am a conqueror.”

 

* * *

 

**Oberyn**

The palace is in chaos. Two weeks was enough time to prepare for a wedding and conduct one, but it left little time to do anything else. In between preparations of his own for the wedding he was seeking a bride gift for his flower. He had an idea for it, had it commissioned the day she agreed to their marriage. He opens the soft velvet box and gazes down at it, glittering warmly in the torchlight. It was perfect for her, and he hoped she would like it.

               Apart from that he must ready for war. He spends what time he has seeing to the preparations of battle, while Doran sees to the preparations of Sunspear. They must take the iron throne before the snow falls to thick, fighting a war in weather like that would be madness. Sansa also cautioned him of the cold in the north, that dornishmen need to dress heavier and wear thicker armor should they seek to conquer it. It was no trivial thing, taking the north.

 _We are the blood of the first men,_ she had said to him in the evening the night before, _and we do not kneel._

The words made him nervous but he said nothing of it. Sansa was stubborn at the best of times, but even Torrhen Stark eventually kneeled before the Targaryen king. She had sworn to do the same for Aegon should he succeed, but not until he did so. Still, he worried that his bride might have ulterior motives despite what she says. There was no love between she and the Lannisters, nor she between the Boltons either. Great animosity was born in her heart for those who slaughtered her family. She may be a gentle soul, but war and loss twist people, it changes them into someone hardly recognizable.

“Have you decided which song you will sing to me?” Ellaria grins at him from her place on his bed, lounging languidly in the sunlight, “I would not wish to turn you away on your wedding night because you had no song for me.”

“I have,” he grins at her, “An old valerian song that Sansa likes...the one about the knight and the great dragon.”

“The young ladies will enjoy that,” Ellaria laughs, “the silly geese will be swooning for you.”

“Do you mind it,” he says as he glances at her, “that I will take her to wife?”

“No,” Ellaria shakes her head, “I’ve told you before I understand. I know you love me Oberyn…and all I ask of you is your love. We may never marry but you and I will always be man and wife under the eyes of the gods…we are merely extending that to Sansa now as well.”

“She is worried for you,” Oberyn says as he gazes out the window, “she doesn’t want to drive you away.”

“We’ve talked about it many times,” Ellaria points out, “I cannot seem to reassure her enough.”

“She feels guilty,” Oberyn reasons, “she has always been an avid believer in true love…she thinks she is destroying it.”

“Then we must educate her in the matters of love,” Ellaria smiles at him, “show her that true love comes in many different forms.”

“I need to go and see to the fleet,” Oberyn groans as he rubs his tired eyes, “that will take me away from this place for a few days. I must ride to Planky town and visit the harbor there.”

“Then I bid you good luck and safe journey,” Ellaria says as she stands, wrapping her arms around his waist and kissing him passionately, “You will return to me.”

“I will,” he says as he kisses her forehead, “I promise you that….I will always return to you.”

 

* * *

 

**Sansa**

               The day he leaves the Water Gardens she weeps and she doesn’t know why. Maybe it was the stress of the wedding, maybe it was the ache for her lost family, but she needed him here with her. They would be married in a week’s time, and setting sail for Dragonstone shortly after.  She was being instructed on the rituals and ceremonies of a dornish wedding, her tongue trying to roll over the sharp vowels of the dornish language as she repeats the wedding vows. Ellaria paints words on her arms for practice, a custom for the bride during the wedding. On one arm the vows of a bride and on the other the vows of a princess of Dorne. The language is a combination of dornish and rhoynish, something they included in the ceremony as well. She would be blessed by the waters of the mother Rhoyne herself, though Sansa wonders if it’s really water from the Rhoyne or a representational bit of water from a nearby river.

               She spends her time with Ellaria, who cradles her with warm arms and comforts her with gentle words. Sansa is crying and she doesn’t know why, she doesn’t understand why she misses him so much so suddenly.

“Everyone gets nerves before the wedding,” Ellaria whispers gently near her ear, “he will be back soon enough.”

“I’m sorry,” Sansa whimpers quietly as she wipes the tears from her eyes, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Please don’t tell him about this….I don’t want him knowing that I was sobbing like a child all week while he was gone.”

“I keep no secrets from him,” Ellaria says softly, “but I will not mention it unless he asks me directly.”

Sansa smiles at this, Ellaria is good at loop holes. Unless he asks her directly about Sansa weeping, she won’t have to tell him anything. Apart from Ellaria she spends the rest of her time with Jon, who plays for her after a great deal of begging, although she must promise to keep his music to herself alone. He is greedy with it, he tells her, and embarrassed for others to hear. Sansa thinks this is odd of course, but consents to his demands. Jon would be shy she thinks, he was never so open about any of his talents back home. Jon would be timid to play before others, because he’s never been in the spotlight.

Still….

Why does he hide his music away from the world when it’s song could render her to tears or bring great joy to blossom in her heart? She thinks this is an odd talent for him to have picked up, and she has never gotten a clear answer as to where he learned it. He claims it’s a secret she mustn’t know yet, a secret she will learn when he is ready to tell her. She wonders if he found a lover in his travels, some beloved woman who taught him to play, maybe he lost her in some great battle and this was his way of remembering her. If he needed to secret this talent away from prying ears and eyes then so be it, if it brought him comfort. 

 

               The day he returns to her, she isn’t even allowed to see him. It is the day before the wedding, and custom decreed she would stay at the Water Gardens while he and his wedding party make for Sunspear. The sun is hardly creeping over the horizon when she is awoken by Ellaria. They bath her in hot water scented with jasmine and lavender, scrubbing her skin pink with soft brushes and washing her auburn hair with lemon scented soap. When they dry her off she is oiled with perfume, a soft exotic scent behind her ears and on her wrists. Her auburn hair is combed till it shone like fire in the sunlight and curled in waves down her back, part of it pinned back in a soft bun. They clipped a bridal veil too it, the color of soft sand that trailed behind her, lightly brushing the floor as she walked. Atop her head rests a tiara of gold and pearls, and around her neck is a heavy necklace of matching color. Upon her arms they paint patterns of rivers and sand, and within each pattern words of the Dornish people and words of the Rhoyne are written.

               Resting amongst these stories is an arm band on each arm.  On her left is a band made of gold encrusted with rubies, a snake twisting up her arm. Its eyes were as black as a midnight sea, something Ellaria found suitable considering who she was marrying. On her right was a silver band flecked with gray, the image of a wolf running up her arm. Sansa loved this; it had been made for her specially to represent her house. She insisted upon wearing the anklet Oberyn gave her as well, and before long Sansa was nearly ready for the wedding. 

               When she stands before the mirror she smiles, hardly recognizing herself. Her makeup was a little heavier than she normally wore it, heavy black eyeliner flecked with gold, her lips rouged a soft burgundy. The bodice of her gown reminded her of Margarey Tyrell’s fashions, the bodice itself was trimmed in shimmering gold and rose to her neckline, the bottom front connecting to her gown while the back was left open save for two golden strips crossing over her shoulder blades that connected to the front of the bodice. The skirt was deep blue with golden trim at the bottom to match, and under it was a sand colored under skirt that matched her bridal veil.

“Beautiful,” Ellaria says admiringly as she circles her, “simply beautiful. You will make a beautiful bride and princess Sansa.”

“Thank you,” Sansa smiles nervously.

 Ellaria kisses her on both cheeks, “but you must get ready to leave now my love, I will follow you with the rest of your bridal party to Sunspear on horseback.” She pulls the veil down over Sansa’s face, straightening her skirts and smoothing the veil in place. “Now…you remember what you are to do when you leave this room yes?”

“I will be guided by my handmaidens to the palanquin,” Sansa repeats dutifully, “I will speak to no one save my husband until after the wedding. When I arrive the people of Sunspear will throw flowers and gifts but I am not to take them, my handmaidens will do that for me.”

“And the water?” Ellaria presses pointedly.

“Before I enter the sept I will be blessed by the waters of the Rhoyne and declared a child of Mother Rhoyne herself thereafter,” Sansa says and Ellaria nods approvingly.

“Good,” Ellaria says, motioning to the doors out of her apartments, “Now go…the palanquin is waiting for you outside at the bottom of the steps to the palace….now…you remember the songs of the Rhoyne that I taught you?” Ellaria says as she follows her towards the doors.

“Yes,” Sansa smiles, catching Ellaria’s nervous fingers between her warm hands, kissing the knuckles gently, “I will be fine Ellaria…I’m just as nervous as you but I remember every song and every word…and I remember when I’m to sing and when I’m to keep quiet.”

“Ok,” Ellaria nods, smiling softly, “Go…quickly before I worry more….and don’t forget your cloak!”

Sansa pauses, a nervous sigh of relief when Ellaria clasps the cloak of House Stark upon her shoulders. She’d nearly forgotten it in her nervousness, and was relieved once again to have Ellaria at her side for this.

Sansa thanks her kindly before stepping out into the corridor, flanked by her handmaidens who turn to greet her. They walk in silence out of the palace, where a few of Oberyn’s bannermen are waiting along with an armed guard. She is helped into the palanquin, her handmaidens lifting her skirts and tucking them neatly inside with her. The palanquin itself is made of elegantly carved wood with a canopy overhead, flowers hung from all four of the poles around her. On all four sides a sheer silk was hung, thin enough to allow the soft breeze in but shielding her from view. Behind her everyone readied themselves, and when the palanquin was lifted she felt her nerves starting to build. She also quietly said a prayer for the poor men who were carrying her all the way to Sunspear, considering that it would have been easier for her to ride a horse rather than be carried. Ellaria had told her it was tradition, a tradition she mustn’t fight.

The bridal party behind her begins to move, each horse decorated in strings of flowers and pearls, the guards surrounding her palanquin were wearing presentable armor too, the shining gold of the Martell guard, suns and spears decorating each plate.

This was it…she thinks quietly to herself, she was getting married.


	24. Chapter Twenty-four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding and the reception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

When they arrive at Sunspear the sun is half way into the sky. The people of Sunspear have gathered in the streets as her palanquin is carried up to the great sept. Their cries are deafening, people throw flowers and beads and even gold coins.  At the steps of the sept she is set down and the curtains are drawn back. She is helped down from the palanquin, her handmaidens straightening and smoothing out her skirts and train.  She is flanked by her bridal party, surrounded by armed royal guard. She takes the step one at a time, repeating the song of the Rhoyne as she makes her way towards the great sept.  At the top of the steps stands a septon, his serious face regarding her as she comes to stand before him.

“May the mother Rhoyne safeguard you all the days of your life,” he tells her, as he takes her hand and cups it, filling it with water from the silver basin beside him. She then takes the water and sprinkles it over her head, the cool drops catching on the veil of her face. They slowly leak through, and it is an inviting relief for her nervousness. It is oddly soothing for her, as she steps past the septon and enters the great sept. Jon is waiting for her; gratefully she finds that he is wearing a clean doublet of Stark grey, a white cloak draped over one shoulder.

“You owe me,” he murmurs laughingly near her ear but she doesn’t respond, is unable to say a word until after the wedding.

They sing, songs in rhoynish and dornish, the guests and royal family stand in row and after row all the way up to the front where the septon questions Jon.

“Who gives this lady to this man?” asks the septon, looking pointedly at Jon.

“I do,” Jon says as he steps forward, gently placing Sansa’s hand into that of Oberyn’s. “Jon Stark of House Stark.”

That wasn’t entirely untrue at least, Jon was legalized by Stannis at one point, so they would settle for it she supposed. She smiles nervously at Oberyn through the veil, her eyes drinking in the sight of him. He wears a handsome looking coat in Martell colors with the family sigil of suns and spears. Beneath it he wears an orange tunic, the color trimmed in gold. He wears more jewelry then she’s ever seen him in, a necklace and many rings on his fingers. His dark hair and beard were washed and trimmed neatly. His warm hand holding hers is reassuring as he pulls her gently to stand beside him, he smells faintly of deep musk that could only belong to him, mixed with light cologne.

They begin the ceremony with changing of the cloaks, Oberyn removing her Stark cloak and handing it to Jon before taking off his own Martell cloak and draping it gently across her shoulders, clasping it neatly in the front. Then in song they sing of the Rhoyne that tells the story of how mother Rhoyne carried them to safety centuries before, carried into the arms of the Dornish people. Then after they begin their vows in dornish, something Sansa struggled with but did the best she could. She had a feeling Jon was trying not to laugh in the background when she rolled over the sharp vowels of each word. Finally when the vows were done he slid a ring onto her finger, a gold ring inlaid with orange and yellow diamonds, the symbol of the Martell sigil.

“I now declare this man and this woman forever more as one, may the seven faces of the god’s curse any who would seek to tear them asunder,” the high septon declares, as Oberyn lifts her bridal veil and leans closer, his lips catching hers in a gentle kiss as the crowd cheers for them.

He offers her his arm and she takes it, lets him lead her down the steps and through the crowd of people out of the sept. Outside another palanquin waits for them, and together they ride through the streets towards Sunspear.

“You look beautiful,” he tells her softly near her ear as they move along the streets.

“Thank you,” Sansa blushes, giggling lightly when he presses his warm lips near her ear and kisses it softly, “You look splendid yourself.”

“How are you?” he asks as they sway gently against one another, Sansa’s eyes on the crowd.

“Hot,” she laughs a little, “this gown is very heavy.”

“As is my own coat,” he agrees, “I prefer lighter materials but this is traditional.”

“And just think,” Sansa muses quietly, “we’ve got an entire day of festivities to get through while wearing said heavy clothes.”

“And then,” he whispers near her ear, something perfectly indecent that makes her blush scarlet.

“You make me blush with such words,” Sansa smiles a little, “I’ve never heard the like.”

“I enjoy making you blush,” he teases lightly, a playful glimmer in his eye.

 

               Inside Sunspear they are led into the great hall before the throne of Dorne, Doran seated with Arianne standing at his side. Oberyn leads her before him, and they both bow in respect of Doran before Oberyn presents Sansa to the court and his brother.

“Brother I come before you, and I present to you my lady wife and princess, Sansa Stark Martell,” Oberyn says, motioning towards Sansa. She steps forward just as practiced and curtseys neatly, the lady in her shining on the surface.

“Your grace,” she says, “I come before you as your good sister and lady wife to Prince Oberyn Martell.”

Doran stands and takes her hands in his, pressing a kiss to the knuckles and he helps her up, “Welcome good sister, I wish you both all the happiness in the world and be blessed with a wonderful life together.”

The court applauds and Sansa follows Oberyn to the feasting table, where she and Oberyn sit with the royal family as the festivities begin. They begin with entertainment, dancers from Lys and Myr are presented, music rich and light as they dance. The food is spicy and hot, the wine is sour and the fruit is sweet. Dorne was known for its sweet fruits, though as winter is setting in this luxury may slowly disappear. One of the perks was that they had lemons, and she was pleased to see that Oberyn saw to them having lemon cakes for the feast. She grabbed a few, nibbling at them happily as she watched the entertainment.

“I knew you would like them,” Oberyn smiles, watching her eat.

“I haven’t had lemon cakes in _ages_ ,” Sansa says, kissing him happily.

“Let’s go dance,” he says when she finishes it, catching her hand in his as he guides her out onto the dance floor. The crowd parts and they sway together, a sensual song of longing. It is a traditional wedding dance, where the groom appears to chase the bride, who slips away from him before he can catch her. At the end of the dance he catches her, his arms circling her waist as he dips her lightly, her arms wrapped around his neck as he kisses her with warm passion. It is all she can do not to pull him closer, they were in public and it would be inappropriate.

               Next came the bridal gifts.  She was presented with beautiful gowns made of sand silk in an array of different colors, jewelry made of rubies and diamonds, garnets and sapphires to match her eyes.  Jon presented her with a kiss to each cheek and many wishes for good fortune in her marriage. He had nothing to his name save for the clothes on his back, and she reassured him his very presence at her wedding was gift enough for her. Finally she was presented with a beautiful ornate chest, and within was a set of silver armor, the Martell sigil crafted into each circular plate, the silver of it shimmering in the torchlight.

“For your protection,” Oberyn said to her as she gazed upon it, “so that I will know my princess is safe on the battlefield.”

“It’s beautiful,” Sansa says with a happy laugh, kissing him on the cheek lovingly as they set the chest aside with the other gifts.

Finally as the morning passes and the afternoon sets in, Sansa must return to the Water Gardens. Both bridal parties prepare to depart while the rest of the family remains to enjoy the festivities. She is taken ahead of the bridegroom’s party, all of her handmaidens following behind her. When they reach the gardens she is hurried into the palace before the bridegrooms party arrives, Sansa laughing excitedly with the other ladies as they prepare her for her wedding night.

               Outside the women stand guard, preparing for the arrival of the bridegroom. Ellaria leads them, already having discussed with Oberyn what he wanted to do. She expects nothing less than pure romance if he plans on getting through the palace doors. Inside, Sansa is readied by the other ladies of her party, helped out of her gown and changed into a beautiful sheer night dress made of myrish lace and white silk.  Right now she waits in her own apartments until they announce his arrival, and once he is here she will be led out to the great hall, wearing her nightdress under the Martell cloak and he will led her to his own private apartments, which would now technically be hers too.

               The fun part she thinks is _how_ he finds her. She can either wait for him like the hall surrounded by her ladies, or be seated and expectant. He cannot take her unwillingly to his rooms, she must consent to it. Therefore she has free will of him, she is free to make any demands she wants of him before he can take her to consummate their marriage. Sometimes Ellaria told her, the bride can hide from him and he must seek her out with the helpful hints of her ladies.

Sansa couldn’t decide which way she wanted to take it.

“He’s here!” one of the ladies of the court says excitedly as she sticks her head in through the door, “Be ready…Ellaria is beginning the tasks now!”

Sansa nods and gets to her feet, her handmaidens straightening her cloak and night dress. She was as naked as her name day under this gown, and it felt very odd. Her nerves were high as she waited, listening intently at the door like every other girl in the room as Oberyn sang to Ellaria. Sansa couldn’t help but giggle, his voice was deep and rich. Then she heard Jon start and she was truly laughing, her brother did not sing nearly so well as Oberyn did. The girls all giggled and Oberyn was knocking on the palace doors, calling sweetly to Ellaria to open the door.

“Does my princess approve?” Ellaria calls down the hall for Sansa to hear.

“Does…” the servant starts but Sansa waves her off, having heard Ellaria despite being upstairs. Voices carry in the palace, and even though she was upstairs she could still hear her.

“I approve,” Sansa says nobly, and then hurries out of her bed chambers with the other women as they rush for the great hall.

 


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding night. 
> 
> A/N: There is some serious smut in this chapter, just so you are all aware. Read, review, I hope you enjoy! :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

She waits for him in the great hall, hears his voice echoing in the corridors as the ladies giggle while he sings to them, the footsteps of he and his party resounding down the corridor. Ellaria comes rushing up to her, and motions with her head to get moving. Sansa grins wickedly and darts away, taking cover behind a pillar. When he enters the great hall Ellaria is waiting, smirking at him with the bridal party behind her.

“I wonder where my princess might be?” he says, a daring smile curving his lips and making the ladies all blush and laugh.

“Your princess awaits you milord,” Ellaria tells him, “Here within these halls.”

Oberyn smiles at her, motioning to his own party to begin the preparations in the other room for entertainment and feasting when he and Sansa have gone up to his rooms.  He then turns in a circle, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I wonder where my princess could be hiding?”

The women follow him as he searches, Sansa darting from pillar to pillar as quietly as she can. She is grateful to be barefoot, her soft feet running soundlessly across the marble floors. She darts up the staircase when Ellaria spots her, immediately blocking Oberyn’s line of view and motioning at her to run, mouthing the word _go_.

She makes it halfway up the staircase, hearing Oberyn’s voice ring out in the hall “Ah-ha!”

Sansa lets out a giggle and dashes up the stairs two at a time, diving behind another pillar as he ascends the staircase.  He walks slowly, his fingers tapping on the marble pillars in a quick rhythm. “I wonder where my princess could be?” he calls, and starts to sing to her, the ladies behind him gathering on the staircase as they watch him.

“Perhaps milady waits for a kiss?” Ellaria calls and Oberyn turns back to grin at her.

“Is that what my princess wants?” Oberyn calls, singing softly in dornish in between, “Does she want a kiss?”

“Mayhaps,” Sansa calls daringly, giggles when he catches sight of the tail end of her cloak. He reaches out to grab it but catches only air, as she twirls away from him.

“Would my princess grant me a kiss?” he calls sweetly, “shall I sing to her?”

“I may,” Sansa says saucily, peaking at him from behind a pillar. He steps close, only the pillar between them. He sings to her and she blushes to the very tips of her ears before she darts away again, debating whether she was ready for him to catch her now. The bridegroom party has finished preparations and now they call to the ladies on the stairs, bidding the giggling women to join them. Music fills the great hall, loud and rich with a quick tempo. Sansa taps to the beat as she twirls away from him, until finally he darts around a pillar quicker than she expected, his arms wrapping around her middle and pulling her back against him.

She squeals with delight, his warm lips near her ears as he whispers, “I have caught my princess.”

“You have,” Sansa says back, turning in his arms so that he might kiss her properly. “I would grant my prince a kiss as he requested.”

“I am honored,” he murmurs, his warm lips against hers. His eyes are dark with want, pressing her tighter up against him as his tongue slides against hers. He steps away and catches her hand in his, feathering his lips across her knuckles, “would my princess be a wife to me tonight?”

“I would,” Sansa says with a nervous smile, letting him lead her to his bed chambers.

Inside his bedchambers candles have been lite and the room is filled with a soft warm glow. The bedding has been changed out, fresh pressed sheets under layers of warm blankets. She was nervous now, as she watches him take off his cloak and toss it over a chair. This shouldn’t be any different; it wasn’t like she hasn’t been in his bed chambers before. It isn’t like she hasn’t lain in his arms and let him touch her, like she hasn’t touched him.  He watches her for a moment, lingering by the door just a little too long. He holds out his hand and she takes it, letting him pull her closer. She’s shaking a little and she can’t help it, unable to fight the nervousness that has overtaken her senses.

“Don’t be afraid flower,” he murmurs as he kisses her softly, “I won’t hurt you.”

“I know,” she murmurs against his shoulder, his fingers drawing patterns across her shoulder blades as he holds her. He steps away just enough to unclasp her cloak, draping it over the same chair with his own. Now she stands all but naked before him, her thin nightdress leaving little to the imagination. Instinctively she tries to shield herself but he catches her hands, gently pushing them away.

“I would see my wife,” he murmurs appreciatively, “would you consent to being my wife tonight?”

“Yes,” she breaths, heat pooling between her thighs as his warm hands slide across her hips. He moves slowly at first, giving her time to turn him away if she wants too. He touches her gently, the length of her legs and the bottoms of her feet, the swell of her breasts, cupping each in his hand, leaving her panting in the wake of his exploration. The cloth of her night dress is uncomfortable and hot, and she longs to take it off.  “Oberyn,” she says, trying very hard not to make it sound like a plea.

“Yes Sansa?” he says against the skin of her shoulder, feathering kisses all the way up to her throat.

“Off,” she murmurs, “My gown…off.”

“As my lady commands,” he says, catching the hem and gently helping her out of it. Being bare before him isn’t so bad anymore, her own fingers curling in his coat as she unties it, pushing it open and off his shoulders. His tunic follows, pushing that off his shoulders to leave him bare chested before her. Her fingers tremble as she slides them across his chest and she feels perfectly silly doing so. She’s seen him like this before; she’s seen him like this many times. She catches her fingers in the light dusting of hair across his upper chest, her mouth catching a nipple between her teeth, lightly swirling her tongue over it. He groans, his fingers catching in her hair as he gently tugs her head back, his warm lips pressing against hers, tongues battling for dominance.

               Her breasts are pressed against him; it sends a thrill through her as he turns them skin against skin as he gently presses her down onto the bed. She sits for him as he leans over her, a hand on either side of her as he kisses his way down her throat, falling back against the bed slowly as he works his way down her body. When he kisses her takes his time, he is languid in making her cry out, the muscles in her lower belly coiling tight before springing free, his name on her lips.  His fingers stretch her in odd ways that sting only a little, and he murmurs soft encouragements as he strokes the tiny pearl above her woman’s place. Finally, when she is trembling with little aftershocks of pleasure, he leans over her, kissing her lightly as he murmurs in both dornish and the common tongue, lovely, filthy words that excite her, the wetness between her thighs warm on his fingers as he sucks them clean, her eyes watching him as he does so.

She is so nervous that her trembling hands can barely manage the ties of his breeches, and his hands catch her fingers gently and still her movements. “We don’t have to do anything you are not ready for Sansa,” he murmurs softly, his dark eyes intent upon her.

“I’m ready,” she says softly, “I’m just…nervous.”

“I will try not to hurt you Sansa,” he says as she unties his breeches, “but the first time for a woman can be painful.”

“I know,” Sansa says softly, “my lady mother told me of it once.” Her fingers push his breeches off her hips, his body wholly bare to her as he kicks off his breeches. He is hard and insistent against her, as he settles between her thighs. In all the years she’d imagined becoming someone’s lady wife, she never saw any of this in dreams. She imagined she’d be married for her title, for her beauty…but never because someone wanted to be married to _her_ …at least nobody as kind and as decent as Oberyn was to her. He lifts her legs over his hips and she takes a deep breath to settle her nerves.

“I will go as slow as you need me too,” he says quietly as he guides himself to the center of her woman’s place. Sansa’s heart hammers in her chest as he presses into her, stretching her in ways she’s not used too. It stings at first and she bites her lip, turning her head to one side and wincing. He notes her expression and stops, allowing her to adjust before she gives him a slight nod, his hips pushing deeper. There is a sharp pinch and he is settled within her, her breath coming quickly.

“Breath Sansa,” he says, pressing soft kisses against her collarbone, pulling his hips back and pushing into her slowly. It’s painful at first, but he is a gentle and through lover. Eventually she works her hips against his experimentally, watches his eyes darken and his breath quicken as her hips press against his, creating a steady rhythm between them as they move together. He’s mumbling in dornish, whispering filth in her ears as he kisses her, his kisses passionate and rougher than before. Soon all that she can hear is the slap of flesh against flesh, his weight against her and his face pressed against her neck. That same coiling sensation turns in her lower belly, but she is nowhere near completion when she feels him gasp against her shoulder, his hips stilling as he presses into her, the warm heat of his seed filling her.

               His weight is against her, his arms giving out beneath him. She takes his weight happily, lets him rest against her, pressing kisses between her breasts. She slides her fingers through his hair, the tips of her fingers dancing a soothing rhythm against his scalp. “Did I hurt you?” he murmurs softly, turning his gaze up to meet hers.

“No,” Sansa murmurs back, “No I’m fine.”

He nods and rolls off of her, pulling her against his side as he does so. She curls against him as he pulls the blankets up over their hips. “I want…” Sansa says softly, “to do it again….if…you want too.”

He smiles and laughs a little, kissing her with fervor for a moment before lying back against the pillows, Sansa’s head on his chest. “You must give me a little time,” he tells her with a smile, “you will be sore before long.”

Sansa nods, pressing kisses against his chest and stomach, “Did I wear you out?” she grins cheekily.

He laughs in reply, “I do not wear out so easily my love,” he tells her, “You will see,” he says as he turns over, pulling her back under him so that he might show her exactly what he meant.

 


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the wedding night. 
> 
> A/N: This is another fluffy chapter of fun mixed with a little intrigue. Granted, this is the calm before the storm as they say....Read, review and enjoy! Some minor smut ahead just so you are aware.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Sansa**

 

She wakes with sunlight bright in her face, her husband on his stomach with a pillow over his head. Gingerly she climbs out of bed, a sweet sort of ache between her thighs. She pulls on Oberyn’s orange tunic from the night before, tying it at her side before she quietly sneaks out of the room. Outside the great hall is silent, but not empty. There are men asleep at the table in the dining hall, and she suppresses the urge to giggle at the sight of them. The dornish certainly do love a party, she thinks as she leans over the railing just enough to look around the hall. She needed moon tea, but there seemed to be no servants awake yet.

“Sansa?” she hears Jon’s voice and almost jumps out of her skin, darting back against the wall behind her. He’s on the staircase across from where she stands on the other side of the hall.

He’s looking at her curiously, and she smiles, brushing her auburn hair behind her ears. “Good morning.”

“I’m surprised you’re up so early,” he says, and she notes his disheveled appearance.

“You must have been out late,” Sansa says as she watches him thoughtfully.

“The dornish know how to give a good party,” he agrees with a half-smile. He walks around the corridor towards her, glancing around him, “Where is Oberyn?”

“Asleep,” Sansa says softly, “I need moon tea…but I can’t find any of the servants.”

“Not ready to be a mother yet?” Jon smiles faintly, “I’ll find someone for you.”

“If we’re going to war,” Sansa says quietly, “I would not wish to take my child with me into battle.”

“A good thought,” Jon nods in agreement, “although I doubt Oberyn would let you so much as leave this palace if he knew you were with child.”

“That and somehow I doubt were leaving for Planky Town today,” Sansa says, nodding towards the dornishmen asleep downstairs. Jon laughs as he takes in the sight of them and nods.

“Go back in your room and put some proper clothes on before anyone sees you,” he says, his eyes kept intently upon her face and not the bareness of her legs. Sansa nods and hurries back inside while Jon goes off to find a servant for her.

“Sneaking away from me so soon?” Oberyn says sleepily as she shuts the door behind her.

She smiles at him sheepishly, “I was looking for a servant…nobody seems to be awake yet.”

“It’s hardly dawn,” Oberyn mumbles as he stretches out a hand for her. “Come back to bed.”

She takes his hand, letting him pull her down onto the bed beside him. He slides his fingers over the fabric of his tunic, deftly untying the bow she’d made to keep it closed. “You look good in my clothes.”

“I was naked,” Sansa laughs a little, “I wasn’t about to go out there with nothing on but a smile.”

“It would definitely be a first in dornish history,” he nods, “you would always be remembered as the naked princess of Dorne.”

Sansa giggles against his shoulder, his warm hands sliding across the bare skin of her waist as he pulls her closer. His lips find a nipple, teasing it lightly with his tongue as someone knocks at the bedroom door.

“Not now,” Oberyn calls before pulling his wife closer, his lips and fingers wandering across her skin.

Sansa laughs a little, playfully trying to keep his hands away from parts of her body that would distract her from the task at hand while she adds, “Yes?”

“I’ve brought you tea your grace,” calls the servant, “and breakfast.”

“ _Not now_ ,” Oberyn mumbles against the soft skin of her stomach and Sansa laughs, his fingers brushing the ticklish places of her waist.

“Oberyn,” Sansa giggles as the wrestle playfully on the sheets, Sansa managing to swing her leg over his thigh and throw her body weight against him, flipping him beneath her. “Just leave it in the study,” Sansa calls, “I’ll come for it soon, thank you.”

“Yes your grace,” the servant replies a little nervously. She can vaguely hear Jon’s voice outside, unsure of what he says but can make out the words _defiling my sister_ somewhat very clearly.

“I’ve hardly begun to _defile_ you yet,” Oberyn growls playfully and Sansa laughs, shushing him before Jon can hear.

“If my brother hears you we’ll never hear the end of it,” Sansa warns lightly.

“Let him complain,” He smirks up at her, rolling his hips against hers so that she can feel his desire, “you are my lady wife…I will _defile_ you whenever and wherever you want me too.”

“Whenever and wherever?” Sansa says with a hint of a challenge in her voice.

“Do I hear a challenge my love?” he says, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“Oh I do challenge you,” Sansa grins, leaning down to kiss him.

“Challenge accepted,” he grins, his hands on her hips as their bodies join once more, there lovemaking gentle as Sansa rolls her hips against his, her long auburn hair trailing down her back as she tilts her head back. He cups the swell of her breasts as she rides him, his thumbs rolling her nipples in each hand.

It couldn’t get any better than this.

 

* * *

 

**Oberyn**

 

               He watches her sleep beside him, worn out from their coupling this morning. She had been the most beautiful creature he ever laid eyes upon when she walked into the sept the day before. A true princess of Dorne, like princess Nymeria when she married Mors Martell.  Sansa had a great deal in common with the warrior princess, who washed up on the shores of Dorne after she and her people lost their homeland to the invading Valerians. Nymeria married Mors Martell in trade for a place for her people, so that they would have a home again.

               Sansa did the same after her home was taken away from her, washing up on the shores of Dorne (or sailing there at least) and marrying him to gain the strength to retake her home. He would endeavor to be a good husband to her, better than the monsters that abused and beat her in Kings Landing. He wondered if she loved him, she had never said it but neither has he. He wanted to be gentle with her, give her a chance to come to him when she was ready for such a commitment. He brushes a lock of hair from her face as she turns in her sleep, and presses a kiss to her temple before climbing out of bed. He plucks a summer blossom from a vase full of them on a nearby table, and lays it gently on the pillow beside Sansa’s head.

               He then washes himself in a basin of cool water before dressing. He needs to prepare for departure, though he doubted they would be leaving today as they had planned. Sometimes a dornish wedding could get just a _little_ carried away. When he’s dressed he makes his way out into the great hall and out the palace doors, noting that little has gotten done since dawn. The servants were up though, readying supplies for the trip.

“We’ll be leaving on the morrow,” he tells one of them who makes note of it and lets the others know.

When Oberyn spots Jon watching from atop the palace steps he makes his way back up to him, coming to stand beside him. He leans on the rails as Jon does, gazing out at the sea thoughtfully. “You enjoyed yourself?”

“Yes,” Jon nods, “As did you.”

“That was not meant for your ears,” Oberyn points out, “I cannot help it if you linger at my bed chamber door like a woman spying on her lover.”

“I _wasn’t_ ,” Jon stammers a little, “I told Sansa I would have the servants bring her breakfast as she requested of me.”

“I see,” Oberyn smirks at him thoughtfully before turning his gaze back out to the sea, “she plays a lovely song on the high harp….she says she learned it from you.”

“So I’ve heard,” Jon nods, “I never realized she was as talented as all that.”

“My lady wife is very talented,” Oberyn tells him, “where did you learn such a song?”

“A maester at the wall had the sheet music,” Jon shrugs, “I learned the harp while with Stannis…boredom I suppose. Aside from him grooming me to be a king, he felt I needed refinement.”

“You see I ask because that particular song was never published…it was hand written by Rhaegar Targaryen himself. I wonder how his sheet music fell into the hands of a maester on the wall?” Oberyn asks with his dark steely gaze intent upon Jon.

“If I tell you,” Jon begins quietly, “You must never repeat it.”

“I will say nothing,” Oberyn says, suddenly very alert and serious.

“Aemon Targaryen was the maester on the wall….you see when Robert killed all the Targaryens he missed one, completely forgot about him,” Jon explains easily, “It was gift from Rhaegar to his great uncle. Aemon enjoyed music I think…and when I found it among his possessions I tried it out. I didn’t know it belonged to Rhaegar.”

“He is dead then?” Oberyn surmises as Jon nods in agreement. “I see…I do not want to hear that song in this palace ever again,” Oberyn warns him, “That song in particular was played the day of the tourney nearly twenty years ago…that very song was the one Rhaegar Targaryen played for Lyanna Stark during the feast. I thought at first you were mocking me with it…you are very lucky I took the time to ask you what it was about rather than go about it in other ways that would be less pleasing to my lady wife.”

“I apologize,” Jon says solemnly, having the decency to look a little alarmed at Oberyn’s words, “I shan’t ever play it again.”

“Good,” Oberyn says darkly, “I would not wish a reminder of the man who brought such ruin to my sister and her children. He is not welcome here.”

 

* * *

 

**Sansa**

When she wakes she finds an orange summer blossom on the pillow beside her, and smiles as she catches it between her fingers to inhale its fragrance. Oberyn was long gone; his side of the bed had gone cold.  She gets up and washes herself before dressing for the day. When she makes her way out into the great hall it is busy with life, people were cleaning up from the party the night before and servants were hurrying to and fro with supplies for the voyage to Dragonstone. They would leave on the morrow, as ordered by her husband she soon learned from one of them.

Sansa found her breakfast waiting for her in Oberyn’s study, and so she dined on dried mango sweetened with sugar and ordered a fresh pot of moon tea to go with it. Soon enough Ellaria found her, and Sansa grinned at little sheepishly, the tips of her ears pink as the older woman sat with her to eat breakfast as well.

“And?” Ellaria says, looking expectantly at Sansa.

“And what?” Sansa says, still smiling as she eats a piece of mango.

“And you know what,” Ellaria grins at her as a servant pours Sansa her tea.

“A lady never kisses and tells,” Sansa tells her pointedly but grins when she says it.

“I told you it wouldn’t hurt as much as your lady mother and that bitch of a Lannister said it would,” Ellaria tells her, “Oberyn was gentle yes?”

“Yes,” she nods, “he was kind to me.”

“Good,” Ellaria nods, “He is a passionate man…he can get carried away…mind him and tell him if he is hurting you, he would not wish to do so and it would upset him greatly if he knew that he had.”

“I will tell him,” Sansa reassures her as she sips at her moon tea.

“You do not wish for children yet?” Ellaria observes as she orders a pot of tea for herself.

“No,” Sansa sighs, “I’ll be going into a battlefield and I’d rather not take a child with me.”

“I agree,” Ellaria nods, “he’d never let you beyond the palace steps if he knew you were with child.”

“Jon said nearly the exact same thing,” Sansa observes as she eats, “I hope you aren’t to put out…us leaving you here like this.”

“I do not go into battles with him,” Ellaria says, “he has left me here many times before and is gone for months before I see him again. I will stay here with our children and our family and look after everyone while you two are gone. It is _your_ job to look out for him and he for _you_ …I will hold you both to that,” Ellaria smiles at her.

“I will do my best to look after him,” Sansa smiles, “though I doubt I’ll be doing much fighting. I am to be seen and only engage in battle if it’s necessary, or so Oberyn has explained to me.”

“It may be necessary,” Ellaria frowns a little as she pours herself a cup of tea, “I hear Stannis Baratheon is a stubborn man…he will not yield the north to you easily…and neither will the Boltons.”

“Yes but we have something they don’t have,” Sansa grins at her, “we have _dragons_.”

 

* * *

 

**Jon (Rhaegar)**

He was a melancholy little fool. He should have never let Sansa hear that music. Oberyn got to close, and it made him nervous. He couldn’t risk that dornish bastard catching him when he was so close to his prize. He had to find a way to separate them, to part them somehow. He would need to wait for the right moment, wait for a time when he could do away with Oberyn and Sansa would be none the wiser. He was pleased to see that she was drinking moon tea; it meant he wouldn’t have to worry about her getting with child just yet. They were making for Dragonstone tomorrow morning, which meant he needed to be ready. He was going to meet his son and sister for the first time, a son he only cradled once as a baby and a sister he’s never known. He heard she has dragons too, and just the other day he saw one, soaring over Dorne as Daenerys took Aegon with her to retrieve the other two from Meereen. She was testing him, he imagined. Only a Targaryen could be a dragon lord, and if Aegon could tame one or at least manage to climb onto the back of one then he had something going for him at least.

It kind of amused him thinking of it, but he knew he’d need to get himself onto one too if his plans were going to succeed. Jon was of Targaryen blood, and the dragon needs three heads. Now all he needed do was plant the evidence and reveal it to Daenerys. Varys would help him with that, and he would play his role perfectly, the ever stunned and emotionally struck boy that Jon Snow probably was, devastated at knowing his true parentage. Angry that Eddard Stark lied to him, grateful that he protected him…angry with his parents for hiding it all.

He sees Sansa later on that day, helping Oberyn pack the saddle bags of his horse. She is radiant today; she is radiant every day if he thinks about it. She looked like a queen in her wedding gown, but queen to the wrong man. It was all he could do to let her go and hand her over to Oberyn, all the while swallowing his reluctance like a bitter taste in his mouth. He had to admit she looked good in anything she wore, and she carried herself like a proper lady.  She would look even better in Targaryen black and crimson he thinks as he watches her, plotting and planning…waiting for his moment to come.


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Oberyn set sail for Dragonstone, and get a terrible fright in the middle of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Sansa**

 

It was a long and hard ride to Planky town. They left before dawn after a tearful goodbye from Ellaria and Oberyn’s children. Sansa had promised to bring Oberyn home, to look after him while they were in Westeros. There was no telling when they would come back, of if they would come back at all. If anything Sansa knew this was going to be a long and tedious battle, an uphill climb against Stannis, against the Tyrells, Boltons and the Greyjoys…and that wasn’t even considering what she was to do with the Freys. Sansa wanted to begin with Asha Greyjoy once she regained her bannermen. She would do as her Lord Father had done and force Asha to bend the knee least the Iron Islands be taken from her. It would definitely help to have a dragon she imagines; it would certainly sway Asha’s judgment at least.

               She’s never met the woman, but from what she hears Asha is as willful and headstrong as Theon had been. When they board the ship Sansa is filled with a mixture of fear and trepidation, standing at the bow of the boat as the ship leaves the docks.

“You stand in the same place you did when we arrived here,” Oberyn observes lightly as he walks up beside her.

“I’m nervous,” Sansa admits, “We have a lot working against us.”

“I have something for you,” he says as he tilts his head, “two gifts…but you will get them tonight after dinner.”

“Really?” Sansa smiles up at him, curling her arms about his waist and pressing her head against his chest, “May I have a hint?”

“For your reign,” he offers and kisses the top of her head, “and that is all I shall say of it. As for the trials ahead…we shall get through them together.”

“I certainly hope so,” Sansa frowns slightly, “Ramsay Bolton is a complete nutter, Asha Greyjoy is as stubborn as a bull, Margarey though I love her is as slippery and as treacherous as they come.  She'll take everything from you right under your nose and do it with a smile on her face and Stannis is the King of honor in battle, I might be able to reason with him and get him to join us…but I doubt it.”

“And the Tyrell girl was the girl you loved?” Oberyn says slightly amused, “you and I will get on very well I think then.”

“I didn’t know she was like that then,” Sansa rolls her eyes, “and you are not nearly so bad.”

“No,” Oberyn muses, “but I _am_ clever.”

“Clever indeed,” Sansa observes, “which leads me to something else… _how_ did they find out about Cersei?”

“Loose lips I imagine,” Oberyn shrugs lightly as he gazes out at the sea, “people talk.”

“Oberyn,” Sansa says quietly now, her heart skipping a beat, “tell me you had nothing to do with what they did to Cersei Lannister.”

“I had no direct involvement in it,” he shrugs, “but I am a snake as they say…and she struck what is mine.”

“Oberyn…her _children_ …you endangered her children,” Sansa says, looking perfectly cross as she gazes up at him.

“Calm my flower,” Oberyn says, turning serious as he looks down at her, “I made sure that Tommen would not be harmed.”

“Where is he?” Sansa says, blinking up at him. He never told her what he’d done, not once. He never mentioned the fate of Tommen to her, even when she was frantic with worry for him.

“Safe…with the Redwynes. Olenna Redwyne is a snake among the flowers,” Oberyn says with mild respect for the old woman, “and the Redwynes will give us no trouble when we arrive in Westeros I think. Though prying Margarey Tyrell off of the Iron Throne might be a challenge.”

Sansa had the vaguest image of Margarey, digging her nails into the metal of the throne while armed guard try to pry her off like a great blue octopus clinging to a sea wall. It makes her smile a little but the smile is soured by anger.

“Secrets,” she murmurs as she steps away from him, “everybody keeps secrets from me.”

“It was no _secret_ ,” Oberyn says firmly, “I was going to tell you when we reached Westeros. It was a dangerous plot against the Lannisters that _I_ was involved in…I had to protect you….the less you knew the less power they would have over you if Lady Olenna and I were caught.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs as he turns away from her, anger flashing in his dark eyes.

“I have spent years sitting in silence while the Lannisters get away with murder. Watching that bitch beat you was the final straw,” he says quietly, his voice laced with anger. It frightens her a little; she can see the rage dancing just beneath the surface of his cool demeanor. Ellaria was better at calming him than she was, but Ellaria was not here and Sansa would have to manage on her own. Oberyn and his anger was like being strapped to an angry dragon and being carried off into the wind, dragged behind the great beast, helpless to stop it.

“I’m not cross because you did what you did,” Sansa says softly, not daring to touch him in such a state of agitation, “I was cross because you kept it from me…but now that I understand the whole situation I don’t mind…I really don’t….I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

His shoulders slowly release the tension that had been gathering as he lets go of his anger in tiny fractions. Finally he holds his hand out to her and she takes it, allowing him to pull her against his side with his arm wrapped around her waist. “Do not fear my temper,” he murmurs, “I will never hurt you.”

“I know,” Sansa says quietly, “I just wanted to give you space should you need it.”

“I thank you,” he says softly, kissing her forehead, “come…let’s put aside this dispute and go and see to the navigation. I think your brother is frustrating the captain.”

Sansa laughs a little as she glances back at Jon, who is currently arguing with the captain over something she can’t hear. Her stomach turns in her gut as she watches him, an uneasy feeling washing over her. She had strange dreams the night before, while they camped on the road to Planky Town.  She dreamt of a red snake being caught up by a great shining green dragon with gold tipped wings and carried away into the wind, and then a great white wolf that she recognized as Ghost, appearing on a ridge to witness it.  She woke up after that, her cries of fear startling Oberyn and half the camp from slumber.

She shakes off the sudden fear of the memory and focuses on the present as she approaches her cross looking brother. It was just a dream surely.

 

* * *

 

**Oberyn**

The day passes uneventful but his wife seems nervous. She paces the deck as the ship sways over the waves. Finally he calls her in for dinner, trying his best to sooth her nerves. They eat around a long cloth covered wooden table, Sansa on one end and Oberyn on the other. Jon sits between them with the captain and some of the other shipmates. They laugh and talk of simple things, life and women and adventures. Sansa hardly touches her plate, the lines of stress deepening under her eyes and tensing her shoulders. She excuses herself without touching her plate and he follows shortly after, finds her curled up on their bed.

“You are distressed,” he frowns as he sits beside her, pulling her into his arms.

“I just….that dream I had…every time I close my eyes I see it,” she whispers, “just like when I dreamed of your battle with the mountain…for weeks after every time I closed my eyes I saw you die.”

He kisses the top of her head and rubs her shoulders comfortingly, “Then let me distract you.” He tells her as he leaves her on the bed and retrieves two things. One is in a small ornate chest and another is wrapped in rough spun fabric. She unwraps the fabric first while he watches, his gaze on her face as her fingers slide over the whisper soft of the black fabric over coat she finds within. It was black as coal with a wide mantle of Stark grey wolf pelt sewn to the lapel, the sleeves stopping short just above the elbow. Under it went a matching coal black leather tunic studded with silver. “For warmth and armor…it goes over the armor I bought you….and this,” he adds as he sets the ornate chest before her, “will go with your armor.”

She blinks at the chest and then back up at him before she opens it, letting out a little gasp of shock as she slides her fingers over the bronze and iron metal. It was a crown made of swords, the crown of winter. “How did you…is this?” Sansa starts to weep, tears sliding down her cheeks, “Is this my brother’s crown?”

“No,” he says softly, lifting it from the chest to hold between them, “I had it commissioned for you long ago. I searched for your brother’s crown first…but it was lost.”

The crown was made of bronze and iron just like the kings of old. It was the crown of swords, but the fit was made for a woman rather than a man. It was as black as smoke, and when he set it upon her head she simply stared at herself in the mirror, his lips pressing kisses against her cheek. “You make for a noble queen.”

This was so real….it was so real and she was terrified.

“When you arrive in Westeros they will not only see a dornish princess but a northern queen, worthy of the winter throne,” he tells her, pulling her back down onto the bed beside him.

“I certainly hope your right,” Sansa murmurs as she stares up at the ceiling, her mind drifting in thought.

 

               They are startled awake late in the night, both groggy and heavy with sleep when they hear the men on deck shouting, the ship rocking violently. The sound of dragon cries reaches their ears, is so loud that it rattles the very walls of the ship. Sansa dashes out of bed right behind Oberyn, scrambling to pull on her clothes while her husband rushes up the stairs shirtless and barefoot.  Jon is shouting and so is Oberyn when she climbs up onto the top deck, and terror seizes her heart. A great green dragon the likes she’s only ever see in her dreams is circling the ship, and astride its back was a man with silver hair.

“Aegon the conqueror comes again!” cries one of the sailors as he whispers a prayer to the seven gods.

“Get the spears!” Shouts another, armed men running back and forth across the deck.

“Sansa get below deck, _now_!” Oberyn shouts at her and she turns and flees her husband right on her heels with his hand on her back. “Stay here and don’t move,” he tells her firmly as he pulls on his armor with frantic fingers. He grabs his spear and his shield and rushes up the stairs once more while Sansa stays as the bottom of the steps, watching him go. She listens intently, the boat rocking violently with every sweep the dragon makes with its powerful wings. Another cry is heard and she can hear Oberyn shouting in frantic dornish. Suddenly Jon’s face appears in her line of vision, grabbing her arm roughly as he hauls her away from the stairs and around a corner, pulling her against him. He is covered in sweat and his breath is sharp and full of fear.

“Shh,” he whispers as they listen, pulling Sansa close to him.

“Jon what’s happening?” she hisses desperately, her heart hammering in fear as her mind whirls in panic. Where was Oberyn?

“It’s landed,” he whispers back.

“Who was that man?” Sansa whispers as the memory of her dream returns, panic driving her to shove away from him, scrambling up the stairs two at a time. Jon cries out and grabs at her, clinging with rough fingers to her ankle as he tries to drag her back to him.

“You’re not going up there!” he shouts forcefully, “you’re staying here with _me_!”

“I’m going to find my husband!” Sansa snarls, kicking free of his grip as he yells angrily after her.

“He told you to stay down _here_ Sansa, damnit!” he shouts, scrambling up the stairs after her.

Her heart is hammering wildly in her chest as she shoves open the deck doors, her eyes scanning the scene. Every crew member is holding a spear or a sword, every single eye is on the great green dragon clinging to the ship, breathing down with heated breath. Sansa spots Oberyn in the front, her heart skipping a beat as she watches him. The dragon would carry him off… _Oberyn was in danger_.

“Oberyn get away from it!” Sansa shouts frantically, “That’s the dragon…that’s the _exact_ dragon from my dream… _please_!”

“Get her back below deck,” she hears him order, no longer Oberyn her husband but Oberyn the Prince of Dorne, his face hard and serious. She feels Jon’s hands wrapping around her arms, pulling her back down below deck.

“Forgive me Uncle,” she hears that same arrogant, cocky voice call down from the dragon, “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

 

* * *

 

**Jon (Rhaegar)**

When she kicks him away he feels a violent surge of anger he hasn’t known since the day Robert killed his family. It was anger stemmed from her defiance, fear of the great bloody dragon threatening to sink their ship and kill them all. It was anger, raw and pure and fear so powerful he is rougher with her than he means too, and when Oberyn gives the order to take her back down below he pulls her against her with enough force to shock her into silence. His angry face is blazing with rage as he hauls her back down below deck, keeping her close to him. She was the last of her line, she was the key to all of his plans and he was more than willing to what he had too, even if he had to knock her out and carry her away from this doomed ship in a small boat.

               He would abandon every last one of these fools who think they can take a dragon the size of an elephant with a bunch of spears and a good shot. Fuck them all he thinks venomously, terror driving him to hold Sansa tighter against him.

“Jon,” she squeaks as she struggles against him, “Jon you’re crushing me!”

“Then you shouldn’t have gone up there!” he snarls right in her face, anger bordering on madness flashing in his eyes. “You stupid little _fool_ , what were you thinking? You could have gotten yourself killed! You have to _live_ Sansa, you _have_ too!”

“It’s _Aegon_!” Sansa squirms against him, trying to break free, “That dragon must belong to Daenerys Targaryen.”

“That arrogant _boy_ is going to sink the ship doing that,” he says while looking absolutely thunderous, “that dragon must weigh more than the damn ship.”

“You’re not even that much older than him Jon,” Sansa snaps as she forces her way free, glaring at him fiercely, “and don’t you _ever_ handle me like that again Jon Snow or so help me I’ll slap you so hard you’ll feel it for weeks!”

Jon glares at her and opens his mouth to speak but stops, his mind whirling in thought. He was slipping, in his fear he forgot all about pretenses. He was in truth, only a few years older than Aegon. Jon was probably a year or two younger than Aegon but when he’d died he was not more than twenty-four. “I’m sorry,” he says, taking deep breaths to calm his rage, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that…you just frightened me Sansa…we didn’t know if that dragon was acting on its own will or if it had a rider.”

“Well we know its Aegon so let’s go see him,” Sansa presses, “I’ve never seen a dragon before…have you?”

“No,” Jon scowls at her, “but you’re staying right here with me like Oberyn commanded you too.”

“You’re not the boss of me Jon,” Sansa glares.

“No,” he says pointedly, “but I am your brother and you will do as I ask you too because you love me,” he argues, “and you know I love you…and I want you safe…it’s just us now…just us…and all we have is each other.”

“Jon,” Sansa frowns softly, her heart softening to him just as he wanted. She wraps her arms around him as he holds her, Sansa’s soft words of apology and reassurance that she’ll be safe steady his anger until it fades almost completely. Sansa’s greatest weakness was her family, and he knew if he played the card of the worried brother it would calm her ire. “We have Oberyn too you know…and the Martells…their family now. Oberyn’s your good brother too.”

“Yes he is,” Jon agrees with a dark look she can’t see, her face pressed against his shoulder as he holds her, “Indeed he is.”

 

* * *

 

**Oberyn**

“You’re lucky we didn’t attack!” Oberyn scowls at his nephew, who hops off the back of his dragon before shooing the great green beast away, watching it take flight to circle the ship once more. The ship rocks violently and the men stagger to regain balance. Aegon walks towards his enraged uncle, who orders his men to stand down. “Truly I do apologize,” he begins, “I was sent to see to your progress. My aunt was wondering how far out you all are.”

“I see you’ve managed to tame a dragon,” Oberyn observes a little sourly. He didn’t want to believe the boy was truly a dragon…but he might just be.

“He wasn’t all that simple to control at first,” Aegon comments lightly, his silver hair fluttering in the breeze as he turns his gaze up to the dragon above. “Stubborn as ever, nearly set me ablaze a couple of times trying to grab the reigns. It was a touch and go progress really…remember not to order for fire when your downwind least you burn with the ones you mean to destroy as well…that sort of thing,” Aegon laughs though nobody else is laughing.

Oberyn grumbles something incoherent, rough dornish that was probably a combination of rude curse words and angry thoughts. “It’s the middle of the night boy,” he says after a pause, “you’ve woken half the ship with your ruckus. You could have at least waited till morning where we could see you coming and had fair warning.”

“I do apologize,” Aegon repeats himself, “I’m only just now getting the hang of it all.”

“Then your aunt should never have turned you loose with such a powerful beast until she was certain of your competency in controlling it,” Oberyn scowls at him. “I’m going to check on my wife and her brother…my men will see to your needs once they get everything else sorted.”

“Sansa get _down_ ,” Jon’s voice carries from the deck doors, and Oberyn’s gaze catches that of Sansa’s as she peers through a crack in the door.

“Sansa,” Oberyn calls, “come here my love.”

Sansa pushes the doors open obediently, Jon trailing behind her closely as she approaches Oberyn. Jon’s eyes are watching the dragon wearily, shifting between the great green beast and the silver haired man standing not but a few feet away from him.

She is wearing not more than one of his tunics and a pair of his breeches, her feet bare against the hard wood. Jon has draped his cloak over her shoulders for warmth, and probably for modesty when he thinks about it. Jon was always considering things like that, an overprotective brother for sure.  “My love…Prince Aegon has come to pay us a visit.”

“I can see that,” Sansa says as she steps up beside Oberyn, whose arm instinctively curls around her waist and pulls her against him.

“I congratulate you on your recent marriage,” Aegon says politely, his gaze shifting between Sansa and Oberyn.

“Word travels fast,” Oberyn surmises with a nod, “It wouldn’t surprise me if half of Westeros knew by now.”

Sansa fidgets against him, pulling the cloak tighter around herself despite the cold night breeze. She almost seems pained and he wonders if she was injured while trying to get back downstairs. He made a mental note to ask her about it once everything was settled with Aegon.

“Please…come down below deck and find a bed if you would like…it’s late and we would all like to get some sleep,” Oberyn says as he motions to the deck doors behind him.

“Sounds good,” Aegon nods, “Rhaegal will be fine on his own, he knows to follow the ship,” Aegon explains as they head below deck.

“Rhaegal,” Sansa asks as they descend the steps, “his name is Rhaegal?”

“Yes,” Aegon smiles at her, “Daenerys named him after my Lord Father, Rhaegar Targaryen.”


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Aegon have a discussion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Sansa**

She stirs restlessly beside him and hopes she doesn’t wake him. Her wrists ache from Jon’s strong grip, the skin tinged pink from the force he used. She rolls onto her side and stares at the far wall, Oberyn asleep behind her or so she thinks until his arm snakes around her waist and pulls her back against him, his lips against the back of her neck, “You cannot sleep either I see.”

“No,” Sansa says quietly, “the idea of a dragon circling our ship has driven sleep from my mind entirely.”

“Why do you flinch when I hold you?” Oberyn questions quietly, noting the way she shifts in his grip.

Sansa stiffens in his grip, panic written across her features unseen by her husband as she had her back to him. If she told him the truth he’d go completely _mental_. If she tried to lie to him he’d know she was doing it. So she resorts to a half-truth instead, “Jon…he didn’t realize his strength earlier…he was a little rough with me. It was my fault…I was just being a silly little fool trying to get out onto the deck and he was only trying to protect me…I was fighting him.”

“He hurt you?” Oberyn says, his voice taking on an edge of alarm as he searches her for injuries. He rubs the pink tinge of finger prints on her wrists and upper arms, his dark gaze cooling as he adds, “He should have taken better care.”

“He didn’t mean too,” Sansa says, turning over to face him. There is anger glittering in his eyes and she’s afraid for a moment that he might jump out of their bed and stalk down the corridor to yell at Jon. “It was my fault…I was fighting him off and he was just trying to keep hold of me.”

“Then he should have locked you away in our cabin,” Oberyn says darkly, “rather than bruise your skin.”

“Don’t yell at him,” Sansa says pointedly, “he was just trying to help.”

“He will _not_ get away with this,” Oberyn says firmly, his dark eyes hardening like black diamonds, “I will speak to him about this.”

“Oberyn,” she says softly, pleadingly.

“ _No_ ,” he says sharply, his accent thickening in his anger. He lies on his back and mumbles in dornish, and Sansa rolls her eyes at his temper.

“You know I haven’t the foggiest clue what you’re saying, right?”

“Yes,” he says aloud, heaving a sigh as he rubs his face, “It is why I speak it. I would rather not curse in the common tongue before you.”

“Something else is bothering you isn’t it?” Sansa asks softly, watching him stir just as restlessly as she was.

“That name, Rhaegar…I’ve been hearing it a lot lately,” he scowls, “it is like he mocks me even from the grave.”

“How is that?” Sansa asks curiously.

“That song you play…the one on the harp is one of his compositions. I would ask that you not play it again my love…it pains me to hear it…it stirs bad memories.” He explains quietly.

“I didn’t know,” Sansa admits, “I won’t play it again.”

“Thank you,” Oberyn nods approvingly, “and then there is that dragon…”

“Rhaegal can’t help what he is named,” Sansa says softly, “he’s just a baby.”

“His sister thinks her brother was some kind of _innocent_ ,” Oberyn scowls darkly; “she knows nothing of the truth of him.”

“And you will not tell her,” Sansa says pointedly, “Oberyn…the woman has lost so much…don’t take her brother from her too.”

“I won’t,” he says quietly, “I would not relay such heavy sorrow on her so soon. She will know eventually…secrets will come to light when she takes the Iron Throne.”

“What kind of secrets?” Sansa asks, sitting up to look at him. She wondered what he knew of Rhaegar, and if there was something he knew that she didn’t.

“Nothing that everyone in Westeros probably hasn’t heard many times I imagine,” he says softly, “but…the dragon queen has never been to Westeros…and I can’t imagine her silly fop of a brother Viserys ever telling her the ugly truth of her brother Rhaegar. So she will get a nasty awakening the longer she stays there.”

Sansa felt sorry for Daenerys, from what she knew of Rhaegar she knew to be bad. He plunged an entire kingdom into chaos and destroyed centuries of family history in one single act.

“You mentioned,” Oberyn says, his brow furrowing in thought as he looks at her, “you mentioned you dreamed of Rhaegar?”

“I didn’t,” Sansa tells him, “I dreamt of that dragon outside…the one I thought was going to carry you away from me.”

“That’s why you were on the deck,” he nods in understanding, “you thought you would save me from the dragon?” he grins at her playfully and she blushes lightly as he adds, “The beautiful princess comes to save the handsome prince from a fearsome dragon? In which song is this…I don’t recall?”

Sansa laughs as he tackles her playfully down onto the bed, singing of a song he made on his own about a princess who rode into battle to save her prince from a wicked dragon who’d swept him away up onto a great mountain side.  They make love again, and this time it’s slow and languid. She takes her time exploring him, swatting his hands away when they itch to pull her closer. She wanted to know every part of him, every thought and every word.

               Hours later they lay tangled in sheets while he hums a soft tune and she listens contently, sometimes singing with him, matching his tone with her own. She would live for days like this, when they’d lay tangled and sweaty in sheets and sing together, days when they’d just be in each other’s presence and that was more than enough to sustain them both for days at a time. She just needed him with her like this, always.

 

* * *

 

**Jon (Rhaegar)**

 

The boy is headstrong and sure of himself. He watches Aegon from his seat across the boat as the boy helps navigate the ship. Apparently he spent most of his life hiding on a pole boat in the middle of the summer sea, and had a great deal of knowledge about ships in general. He did resemble him in some ways, he had his eyes and his hair and his chin. It didn’t make the boy his son though, but he was starting to believe it. He could see it vaguely, a dream in the distance. When he was young he was the prince in the songs, he was a knight, and he was a prince, an artist, a lover, a warrior, a husband and then finally a Father. He did everything right….but he still failed.

               As he watches Aegon he wonders where he went wrong, and wonders how to save his son from a similar fate. His son was the perfect prince, raised to be King since he was old enough to walk. Varys had seen to that, or so he’d reassured him. He did not want Aegon to be like him and make the same mistakes, because that would only mess everything up worse. He knew the boy liked Sansa, he saw how his eyes would linger on her a little too long when Oberyn wasn’t watching. Sansa was hard not to notice, but right now she belonged to another man. If Aegon wasn’t careful he’d make the same mistakes he had, but this time the woman of his choosing would be married rather than betrothed. When Sansa climbs up on deck he is surprised by her appearance. Gone was the princess of Dorne, in her place stood the queen in the north. She wore black leather and Stark grey wolf pelts, her auburn hair tied into a loose French braid and tossed casually over one shoulder to drape down her front.

“She’s wearing pants now is she?” Jon comments as she passes by.

“I am,” she says with her chin up, “I’ll need it to ride a horse properly.”

“You look lovely sister,” he smiles up at her, “I only jest.”

“You’ll need your furs Jon,” Sansa points out, “where going into icy waters and winter has set in at Dragonstone.”

“I’ll get them eventually,” Jon grumbles, sheathing the dagger he’d been cleaning and getting to his feet. She was certainly bossier when she was wearing that get up. She even looked intimidating, or maybe it was just the fur. He watches her walk away and can’t help but admire the curve of her hips and the way those breeches shape her. She looks glorious like that; he thinks to himself…she looks like a proper wildling queen dressed like that. It reminds him of Lyanna, the wild wolf woman he’d fallen in love with so long ago. He shakes off the memories and turns away, heading down below to gather up his furs before Sansa tries to dress him herself.

She fretted far too much over Jon Snow.

 

* * *

 

**Sansa**

              

“Does he have to circle us like that?” Sansa says nervously, gazing up at the dragon above them.

“He won’t hurt anyone,” Aegon reassures her gently, “does he frighten you?”

“I had….never mind,” Sansa shakes it off before forcing a smile to curve her lips as she gazes up at the silver haired prince beside her, “Thank you for the necklace.”

“You got it then?” He smiles as he turns his gaze out to the sea, “I had wondered if you did.”

“It’s lovely, really…” Sansa smiles as she produces it from under her furs for him to see, “I wear it all the time.”

“I thought it would suit you,” he grins, “it matches your eyes. I found it among the spoils within Storms End. It fell out of an old jewelry box that I found inside some old trunk buried under furs.”

“Well I thank you for it,” Sansa smiles at him brightly before turning her gaze out to the sea as well.

“I’ll be leaving soon,” he says after a long pause, “I just wanted to drop in and see how everything was going…I was wondering if you wanted to go back with me?”

“Mmm…” Sansa says as she turns her gaze up towards the dragon and back towards him, “Maybe when we’re on actual _land_ ….something about flying over open water doesn’t sound particularly….safe.”

He laughs a little, teasing her lightly, “You’re afraid of heights aren’t you?”

“I am not,” Sansa laughs, “I just don’t particularly like the idea riding on the back of a giant scaly beast with no saddle and nothing to keep me from falling off.”

“I’ll keep you from falling off,” Aegon reassures her with a smile, “and you don’t want a saddle…you’d need to constantly make new ones with dragons if you did that…they grow and grow and grow all their lives…and he’s just a baby…it’s going to take a while before he’s properly grown.”

“Doesn’t look like a baby to me,” Sansa mutters, her eyes trained on the great green dragon above them.

“He’s named after my Father…which leads me to something else…I do apologize for being such an ass to you the last time we spoke,” Aegon says quietly, “I would hope that you and I could get past that.”

“Forgiven and forgotten Aegon,” Sansa smiles before she adds, “and call me Sansa.”

“Sansa,” he grins at her and nods in approval, “feel like I should be addressing you as my lady aunt…but I rather like calling you Sansa.”

"Just Sansa," she smiles, "I feel old when you call me aunt."

“So where do we go from here Sansa?” he replies after a pause as they lean against the railing side by side, staring out at the sea.

“I don’t know,” Sansa replies softly. She knows what he’s referring too, there was a gigantic rift torn between their families. Not even he and Sansa being friends was going to heal all the hurts done from so long ago. Her bannermen wouldn’t be so quick to forgive and forget either.

“Our parents really screwed things up didn’t they?” he says quietly, “and they left it all for us to clean up after them.”

Sansa nods solemnly her as she gazes out at the sea, the memory of each member of her family, their faces flashing behind her eyes as she replies, “Yes they did.”

“I can’t give you back your aunt…you can’t give me back my Lord Father…how do we fix this?” Aegon says softly, his eyes on her wedding ring.

“I don’t know Aegon,” Sansa repeats softly, “I really don’t…the whole thing is so mucked up….it was only made worse by the Lannisters. I suppose we can start with my fealty to you…my banners aiding you in the war for the Iron Throne. That’s all I can really give right now…I have a sister…or I did….I don’t even know if she’s still alive….” She trails off as he holds his hand up, smiling faintly at her.

“I’m not asking you for a wife Sansa…fealty is good enough for now. Maybe one day we can join our houses…but for now let us focus on friendship and good will.”

Sansa smiles at him and nods approvingly, “I like the way you think Aegon Targaryen.”

“I’m glad,” he grins at her, “because I want you to see what I’ve got planned for the Boltons.”


	29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys and Sansa meet for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Sansa**

 

She shivers in the cold, the waves rolling under the boat making her stomach turn. The fog was thick in the early morning, dornish soldiers lining up on deck as they prepare to land. It has been a long voyage, and Sansa was grateful to see land. She has never been to Dragonstone, and she felt a sort of silent excitement about it. She’d heard stories, seen paintings but never the real thing. Oberyn catches her hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles as he stands beside her.

“Welcome home,” he murmurs quietly as his gaze fixes on a point in the distance.

There, looming in the fog stood Dragonstone. It was dark and intimidating, breathtaking towers reaching towards the heavens, carved in stone as black as pitch. Great threatening carvings of dragons wrapped around pillars, looming over gateways stood guard over the eerily silent hold. The closer they got, the more they heard. They heard dragon song, and men shuffling across dirt and stone. They saw lanterns in the distance, flagging the ships down and giving signal for the long boats to be lowered. They weighed anchor just off shore, the long boats prepared and filled to the brim with soldiers and supplies. Sansa waits for the majority to be off loaded before joining the others on shore. She wants to stay on this boat, she wants to turn around and go right back to Dorne. Daenerys Targaryen was waiting on that shore; she had three dragons and a nasty vendetta against the Starks. She didn’t want to face this woman, she wanted to run and hide and she was ashamed of herself for that.  This was going to require every skill she had in the armor of a lady, she was going to have to cling to her courtesy like a life boat in the middle of a raging sea. Aegon had promised she would hear Sansa out, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t kill Sansa after she’d spoken her peace.

“Breath Sansa,” Oberyn murmurs near her ear as they climb into the long boat, taking a seat towards the middle. She stays near Oberyn, trying not to appear like a child hiding behind its mothers skirts but also trying not to seem too cocky either.  When the boat reaches the shoreline she climbs out after her husband, staying close to him as they walk the long trek where the horses waited. They rode in a group up the mountain side towards Dragonstone hold, which rested high above the damp and solemn village by the shoreline.  It was bitterly cold, and she noted that even Oberyn had a sour look on his face from it. The men had taken precautions to prepare for the cold, but Sansa knew they weren’t ready for true winter, at least not winter in the north. They would need to have thicker clothing if they planned on not freezing to death just trying to reach Winterfell.    

               When they reach the top of the mountain they dismount and hand the horses over to the stable boys, and then are led by servants into the main hall of the hold. Inside is worse than outside Sansa thinks, her gaze shifting over the dark and cold castle. The walls were carved out of the very stone of the mountain side, forged in dragon fire centuries before.  Torches lined the corridors and halls, but it did little to illuminate the old castle when night fell over the land. She noted they’d found the Targaryen banners, which were now hanging from the walls and railing of stairwells and overhangs. They find Daenerys herself waiting with Barristan Selmy and Aegon in the great hall, sitting at the end of a long and rough looking wooden table.

               When she sees Daenerys it takes all her strength to keep walking forward, her gaze drifting over the dragon queen. She was beautiful, Sansa had to give her that. Vivid purple eyes and flowing silver hair like her nephew. Daenerys gaze drifts over the newcomers as Oberyn steps forward, giving a short bow before speaking for the group.

“Queen Daenerys,” Oberyn says respectfully, “I am Prince Oberyn Martell of House Martell and Dorne has arrived to aide you in your battle.”

Daenerys stands, stepping around the table and walking towards them. “Welcome,” she begins politely, “I am grateful and honored that you would travel so far for so long to aide my nephew and I in such a trying time for our family. Please, make yourself at home…the servants will see to your every need, if there is anything you need don’t hesitate to ask.”

_Maybe she would get away with this…_

“Allow me to introduce my lady wife and Princess, Sansa Stark Martell of House Martell,” Oberyn says, motioning for Sansa to step forward, his hand outstretched towards her.

_Or not…_

She sees the dragon queen visibly stiffen for a fraction of a second as Sansa steps forward, taking her husband’s hand and curtseying politely before Daenerys, “Your grace.”

“Stark,” Daenerys says as Sansa meets her hard purple gaze.

“Yes your grace,” Sansa says quietly.

“It was your family I understand that took part in the war that usurped my Father and murdered my family,” Daenerys says firmly, unwilling to allow Sansa to break eye contact. Blue against purple, and for a moment Sansa forgets to breath.

Finally she finds her voice again and nods faintly, “My family partook in the war but not to aid Robert Baratheon’s blood thirst.”

“We shall see,” Daenerys says darkly, her gaze as hard as diamonds. “You will meet me in the war room later, and we shall discuss this.”

“As you wish your grace,” Sansa says as Daenerys turns away, walking back towards Aegon and Ser Selmy. She exchanges a brief look with Oberyn, whose expression could only be read as _stay calm_.

               They were dismissed without any grandeur, and shown to their rooms. The room she is given with Oberyn is cold and dim, but then every other place in the castle was the same way. There was a four post bed draped in Targaryen colors and layered with fur blankets. She changes into something less wolf queen and more lady like, while Oberyn watches her from his perch on their bed.

“You are nervous;” he observes thoughtfully, “don’t let her intimidate you.”

“She probably hates me Oberyn,” Sansa says quietly, “I don’t know how I’m to explain anything to her.”

“Just tell her the truth,” Oberyn tells her, “tell her exactly what happened…tell her what the Lannisters really are, tell her about your Father…tell her the _truth_ ,” Oberyn offers her pointedly, standing to help her with the laces of her gown. His warm fingers trail up her spin as he works the laces and it sends shivers up her spine.

“The truth is an ugly thing,” Sansa says softly, “I would have to speak freely to even explain it.”

“Then ask that of her, ask that she would allow you to speak freely,” Oberyn encourages her, “show her that you are on her side…that you aren’t what her brother made you out to be, what he made the Starks out to be. Let her see the compassionate and gentle woman I know you are.”

She chooses Martell colors for her gown, the Martell sigil embroidered in gold into the fabric. She lets her auburn hair loose in waves down her back, twisting braids into her hair relevant of the northern styles. She was both of the north and of Dorne, and she would have Daenerys remember that.

 _A ladies courtesy is her armor…_ Sansa hears her mother’s voice echoing in her mind as she dresses. This was going to take courtesy and quick wit to deal with Daenerys. When she is finished Oberyn is smirking at her a little and she looks at him expectantly.

“Would you like to wear your diadem with it as well?” He teases lightly, “I don’t think her grace will soon forget you are my wife.”

“Well,” Sansa points out, “as my vows dictate when we wed, I represent Dorne as I am a Princess of Dorne…I must behave accordingly.”

“Ever the lady,” Oberyn laughs as he lies on his side, watching her straighten her skirts in the mirror.

“I was a lady at three,” Sansa tells him, “Since I was old enough to walk I was preparing for ladyship. My mother and septa always taught me that courtesy was my armor and how I present myself is my shield.”

“Then you are well armed for battle,” Oberyn says with a smile as she bends over to kiss him lightly on the lips.

“I will see you later this evening,” Sansa tells him before sweeping out the door, the train of her dress following behind her.

 

* * *

 

**Daenerys**

 

               She was afraid of her, she could tell. _Good_ she thinks to herself, let her be afraid. She shifts her gaze from the map of Westeros inlaid into the floor to the young woman before her, “Princess,” Daenerys says as she takes in the other woman’s appearance. She would clearly have Daenerys not forget who she is and why she is here. “I have called you here to settle the dispute between our families.”

“I am aware your grace,” Sansa says softly, “Shall I begin or will you?”

“I will begin,” Daenerys says firmly as she straightens and walks towards the other young woman, her purple gaze thoughtful. “You Father joined the butcher king in his rebellion eighteen years ago, did he not?”

“Yes,” Sansa says, watching the silver haired queen pace the room in thought.

“And did he not aid Robert Baratheon in the overthrow of my family and usurp my Father from his throne?” Daenerys presses on, her hard purple gaze on Sansa.

“Yes,” Sansa replies quietly.

“And furthermore did he not partake in the murder of my brother, his wife and his children? Not forgetting the subsequent exile of myself, my brother and our lady mother her grace Queen Raella?”

“No,” Sansa says as she meets Daenerys’s gaze. She is taken back for a moment, surprised by the firmness in the other woman’s voice.

“No?” Daenerys asks, pausing mid-stride. “On what grounds are these accusations false?”

“May I speak freely your grace?” Sansa asks, and when the other woman nods in approval she continues, “My Lord Father, Eddard Stark aided in Robert Baratheon’s rebellion. He lent his armies to the cause to overthrow the Targaryen family. These accusations are true but there is more to it than that. My Father all but severed any ties he had with Robert Baratheon when he discovered that Princess Elia and her children had been brutally murdered. Our family never went to war with yours to murder children your grace. We went to war because your Lord Father, King Aerys murdered my grandsire and my uncle in cold blood because they came before him, requesting that he call back his son. Your brother Rhaegar had kidnapped my Lady Aunt Lyanna Stark and King Aerys refused them, and subsequently had them killed afterwards. He then tried to issue an order to kill both my own Lord Father and Robert Baratheon as well, who at the time were wards of Lord Jon Arryn. Your grace…” Sansa sighs softly, “The Starks have always been loyal to the Targaryens, since the day Aegon the Conqueror landed in Westeros. The only reason we turned against you is because you first turned against us. Now I have only one question to ask…and forgive me if I am too bold in asking, but what exactly did his grace Prince Viserys tell you of the rebellion?”

“He only told me that the Starks turned against us and joined the Baratheon’s in the war,” Daenerys answers, now curious as to what the truth really was. “He never told me about what our Lord Father had done. Then he was only eight at the time however,” Daenerys says softly, “I would imagine an eight year olds perception might be distorted by different stories.”

“The Lannisters are the true enemies your grace,” Sansa says quietly, “they waited until the war was all but won before joining us. They would not risk turning on you and your kin until they knew they could win it.”

“Tell me,” Daenerys says as she gazes down at the map again, her eyes on the image of Kings Landing, “tell me about your time in Kings Landing. Aegon tells me you suffered a great deal there.”

“I did your grace,” Sansa nods, “I was held prisoner for nearly three years.”

“What befell you there?” Daenerys presses on, seeing the hesitation in Sansa’s eyes.

“I was….they made me watch my Father be beheaded…they made me stare at his held on a spike along with my Septa Mordanes. They….tortured me…for my brothers victories in the battlefield. I was stripped naked before the entire court and held at crossbow point by Joffrey Baratheon, while he had me beaten by his Kingsguard. I was nearly raped on a few occasions…Joffrey threatened to rape me on several occasions himself. Especially after I was forced to wed his Uncle, Tyrion Lannister. However…Prince Oberyn saved me from all of that. Tywin was forced to give me up to him as a prize after he’d slain Gregor Clegane in a trial by combat for the murder of Joffrey Baratheon. Tyrion and I have been accused of the murder and Prince Oberyn stood as our champion.”

“He claimed you as his _prize_?” Daenerys said, looking mildly disgusted by the suggestion.

“His lady wife,” Sansa continues softly, “We are quite happy together your grace. He treats me well and has never forced anything on me…including marriage. It was an offer more than a demand or expectation.”

“An offer you accepted I see,” Daenerys says, noting Sansa’s appearance. “Princess Sansa, you have endured a great deal on behalf of your family. I must apologize for the harshness of my accusations earlier. I wasn’t aware of the entire truth, but now that I am I can assure you that justice will be done by the Lannisters for what they have committed against both our families.”

“Thank you, your grace…” Sansa says, curtseying politely.

“And Princess Sansa,” Daenerys calls as Sansa turns to leave.

“Yes your grace?” Sansa asks, turning to look at the silver haired queen.

“If ever you feel…imprisoned by your husband…you will tell me right away. I will not allow any man to hold a woman like she was a prize won at a tourney.”

“Yes your grace…thank you,” Sansa says before sweeping out of the room. Daenerys watches her go with a mixture of pity and confusion. Viserys had raised her on stories about the battle, and he’d left out so many vital parts of the story. She must consider this and discuss it with Ser Selmy, to see what he makes of it.

“Missandei,” Daenerys calls as her friend and handmaiden steps forward.

“Yes my queen?” Missandei answers, waiting expectantly.

“Summon Ser Selmy, I would like to speak with him,” Daenerys says as she ponders the words of Sansa Stark. The last Stark, the Stark who held the whole of the north in the palm of her hand. If what she said was true…the Lannisters would burn.


	30. Chapter Thirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa in the north.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Sansa**

The day they march north, the winter snow has begun to fall. Her armor glitters in the cold morning sunlight under layers of black leather and stark grey wolf fur. The men around her are of sour disposition; the cold chills them to the bone despite the layers of fur and leather they wear over their armor. The Martell and Targaryen sigils are held aloft by the banner bearers who ride in between the soldiers. They flutter in the morning sunlight and Sansa can’t help but feel a bit of unease. Aegon would meet them in two month’s time near the Dreadfort with Rhaegal, and from there they would prepare for a confrontation with the Boltons. Beside her, Oberyn is solemn and quiet. He did not like taking a dragon with them for this battle, but he did understand that it would make things easier. He wore his glittering helm and as she peers at him from her peripherals, she marvels at the sight before her. He was the red viper of Dorne in full armor, preparing for battle. They had discussed at length what she was to do on the battlefield. Most of it involved staying out of the line of fire, and keeping her head down. She would stick to the middle of the formation, surrounded by dornish spears and Targaryen blades. Daenerys hadn’t wanted her out there at all, rather she wanted Sansa to fly out with Aegon on Rhaegal and meet them at the Dreadfort. That way, Sansa would be safe regardless, as no man would dare risk an attempt on her life while she sat astride the back of a dragon.

               Sansa refused, she wanted her people to see her strong and not hiding behind dragon fire. They needed to know that while she was a proper lady of the north, she would not hesitate to give command should it need to be done. So here they were all together, trudging through snow drifts and shivering as the icy wind blows snow in all their faces.

“It is a wonder,” Oberyn says, brushing snow from his sleeves with a grimace, “that you survived in such ice my princess.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Sansa smiles at him, watching her husband grimace as yet another bought of snow is blown into their hair and faces. “We’ll need to make camp in another couple of miles if this gets any worse.”

“We’ve only been moving for a couple of hours,” Jon says as she rides up behind them, “We can’t stop now.”

“He’s right my love,” Oberyn says thoughtfully, his dark eyes gazing at something in the distance, “by now the Bolton’s will have gotten word that we are marching on the north. They’ll be preparing for war as well.”

“Jon,” Sansa says thoughtfully as she hears the words of her husband, “we need to send out scouts ahead of us in case they try to ambush us.”

“Already done,” Jon nods, “I sent two ahead earlier this morning.”

“I don’t recall putting you in control of my forces,” Oberyn comments idly, shooting Jon a glance before turn his gaze away and adding, “Have they returned yet?”

“Not yet,” Jon shakes his head, bits of snow clinging to his dark curls, “We’re not even in the north yet and it’s already snowing. I’m afraid to see what lies further ahead.”

“Snow,” Oberyn says, “Ice…cold….dirt…trees….the same thing we’ve passed miles back and nothing we cannot deal with.”

They trudged on for miles and miles, endless white landscape and trees laden with ice and snow. They pass farms and villages, some people rushed out to greet them wielding Targaryen banners and some hide in their homes and lock their doors.  Sansa pays them to mind though Oberyn will occasionally toss gold coins to the peasants, people will rush up to the bannermen behind her and give them food and furs for the winter. Targaryen loyalists as Dany had called them, and they began to crop up all over Westeros as they made their way north.

               Twenty days into the trip and they reach the tip of the riverlands. What was once a sprawling and beautiful land full of green pastures and flowing rivers, now sat frozen and silent. “The Freys,” Sansa murmurs to Oberyn, “We’ll need to get past them to get into the North. We have to cross the twins,” she explains easily, “it’s the only way across. We can’t take the destriers through the river it’s too deep and the current is too strong.”

“They killed our family,” Jon says quietly from beside her, “We take the twins.”

“We’re going to have too,” Sansa agrees as she glances at her husband for his thoughts.

“We will need too yes,” Oberyn agrees, “but the Frey’s will know we’re coming. We will need to be cautious, as we’ve seen they don’t fight honorably.”

“Then we take the riverlands too,” Jon urges, “We’re here…we might as well.”

“It could be useful,” Sansa agrees, “if we take the bannermen of the riverlands we’ll double our soldiers. The Frey’s won’t be able to hold the twins.”

“If Uncle Edmure is dead,” Jon cuts in, “You’ll be the rightful claimant to the Riverlands. The bannermen will join you willfully.”

“We don’t know if he’s dead or not Jon,” Sansa says thoughtfully, “Nobody knows where he is.”

“ _Hold_!” Oberyn’s voice is sharp, cutting through their conversation as he holds his hand up to stop the troops behind them.

“Riders approaching!” One of the bannermen behind her calls.

They can see banners flying in the distance, and she can just barely make them out. A scarlet banner with ravens and a dead weirwood… _Blackwood_.

The riders pull up short as they approach, and from between them a tall man with dark hair and blue eyes rides forth from between them. “Hail,” he calls as he approaches, “How is it that riders of Dorne and Targaryen come so far into Westeros?”

“We ride for the north,” Oberyn calls in return, “To Winterfell.”

“Winterfell is a ruin,” Brynden Blackwood announces to them all, “You’d sooner have better lodging in the snow beneath a weirwood tree.”

“I come to reclaim my home,” Sansa says, urging her horse forward. “I am Princess Sansa Stark Martell, and I am the rightful claimant of the north and the Riverlands.”

“I thought all the Starks were dead,” Brynden replies, bemused, “and a claimant to the Riverlands as well…that is interesting. Come…Princess Sansa, bring your men back to my hold…you all must be exhausted. There is plenty of warmth to be had there.”

“You’ll forgive me if I am hesitant,” Sansa says pointedly, “My brother, Robb Stark who was Lord of Winterfell and King in the North was murdered at the Twins along with his wife, my mother and my Tully relatives.”

“Aye,” Brynden agrees, “and it was a terrible loss. Though the Blackwood’s are not Freys, and my Father would swear you fealty if you would have it.”

“I would,” Sansa says with mild relief, “Call the banners…call them all…save for the Freys. I want the Riverlands to know what traitors they are.”

* * *

 

**Oberyn**

She is resplendent in the candle light. She speaks the banners present like they were her own.  It doesn’t take much convincing; Jaime Lannister had all but put a choke hold on the majority of the Riverlands. They want free of it so here they are. They only rough patch during the evening was when the Brackens came, and naturally….it didn’t go well. Oberyn had never seen such animosity between two houses before, but according to Sansa the Ravenswood’s and the Brackens have never gotten along.

“They have my son,” Tytos tells Sansa later that evening, “they took Hoster.”

“We’ll get him back,” Sansa assures the Lord of Raventree Hall, “We will do everything we can to get your son back.”

“It won’t take much for the Frey’s to figure out what’s going on,” pipes up Lord Mooton, “they’ll be hold up in that damned fort of theirs by morning.”

“There is the situation with whom we were to be sworn too,” Lord Tytos adds, “Petyr Baelish rules Harrenhal though he has yet to take up residence.”

“Then you hold no allegiances to him,” Sansa tells him, “He has no claim to the Riverlands as I do, and the Lannisters have been ruined. Anything the Lannisters might have promised you or threatened you with means nothing now.”

“So what exactly are you aiming to accomplish with this quest Princess?” Lord Bracken asks after a long silent pause, “Do you mean to take the Iron Throne?”

“No,” Sansa says, “I have agreed to swear fealty to that of Aegon Targaryen, and put him on the throne.”

There is a loud grumbling in the room, many voices in hushed whispers all at once. Sansa raises her voice to speak over them, “Milords,” she says and then even louder, “ _Milords_ , if you would please….thank you….I realize this is unsettling for many of you. The Targaryens have a long and brutal history. However I have faith in Aegon Targaryen and in his aunt, Daenerys Targaryen. Milords she has the army and the dragons to accomplish this task. She is a good queen, and a skilled ruler…she resides over the city of Meereen in Essos. They call her Daenerys Stormborn, the unburnt…the breaker of chains…and what chains the Lannisters have placed on you she _shall_ break them.”

He smiles at her words, she is a good speaker. The men rally to her, they cheer though some might still have doubt. In the following days after she proves those words true. They take the twins with fire and blood, Targaryen blades glinting in the sunlight, dornish spears unbent, unbowed and unbroken.  In the bowls of the keep they find Edmure Tully alive but very filthy. He is half starved and so it takes a long while to help him recover. Sansa is dutiful in helping him restore his seat in Riverrun, and from there he rallies his banners to his niece in taking back the north.

               It takes near a week to organize everything, but when they move out they leave in great numbers. The Freys or what is left of them, are left under guard at Riverrun, and will be tried before Aegon and his Aunt later on.  Sansa handled it bravely though he could see the rage burning in her eyes. She was ever the lady even in battle, and refused to dishonor herself by acting in her anger. They would have a trial, and she would probably still see them burn anyways.

 

* * *

 

**Sansa**

               They are two weeks out when scouts return, frozen from the cold and fearful. “He’s coming,” one tells her urgently, “I saw them…he’s got hundreds behind him. The Bolton’s know were coming, he means to cut us off before we reach the White Knife.”

“Then let him come,” Oberyn says as he gazes at the scout, “and he will know what he deals with.”

So they met the Boltons near the White Knife, and by now the snow was deep and the cold was bitter. Dornishmen weren’t made for the snow, and Sansa could see that her husband and his soldiers were hindered because of it. They waited patiently, for a day or more before the Boltons came over the pass. Oberyn didn’t want to be caught off guard and so a perimeter was regularly checked and sleeping schedules were infrequent and short.

               Roose Bolton led them, and when Sansa rode out to greet him she wore the winter crown, a statement to any who saw her. She was Robb Stark’s sister; she was queen in the north.

“Lady Sansa,” Roose Bolton says with a nod of his head, “I haven’t seen you since you were just a girl in pig tails.”

“Lord Bolton,” Sansa says with a nod of her head, “I have returned to the north and I think you know why.”

“Yes,” Bolton agrees with a nod, “but you refused my offer. I cannot help you unless you help me first.”

“I am wed,” Sansa points out, “and your offer was to wed me to a man already wed to another.”

Oberyn pulls up beside her, watching the northerner wearily. Sansa shares a look with him before she continues, “I would take up my seat in Winterfell. You are sworn to the banners of the Starks.”

“I see no Stark banners Lady Sansa,” Bolton says, “and you are no Stark. What do they call you now…the Viper’s cunt? Flower? I cannot recall,” Bolton says with a sour smirk on his face, “you have abdicated from your claim the moment you married a Martell.”

“Princess,” Oberyn cuts in, tilting his head to one side as he regards Bolton, “Where I am from…when you are in the presence of royalty you address them as _princess_.  As I am a Prince of Dorne and she is my lady wife, that makes her a princess. When you speak to her in such a manner you not only offend me but you offend my people. Where I am from, when a man speaks to a princess like that, they tend to lose more than their tongue.” Oberyn tells him darkly, venom in his words.

“Forgive me,” Bolton says sarcastically, “ _Princess_.”

He seems nervous, Sansa thinks as she watches him. Why was he so nervous? Sansa’s eyes drift over the hoard of banners behind him, flapping in the icy breeze. Horses shift nervously, their hot breath like clouds of white smoke in the wind. Why was he so nervous? She meets his gaze and she notes his unwillingness to keep eye contact. He sits uncomfortably, and the reigns in his hands shift uneasily from left to right, back and forth. Oberyn seems to have noticed it too but says nothing, and he was also looking out over the banners behind Bolton.

What was she _missing_?

Her eyes drifted over the banners again, naming off the houses as she went. Then it clicked, and when it did she felt a burst of joy in her heart. She turns her gaze upon Bolton, suppressing the urge to look smug as she says, “Lord Bolton…it appears you’re missing some of your bannermen.”

Sansa has no idea where they could be, but she recalls the reply she received from Bolton. She’d sent out dozens of them to every single banner of the north. This must mean that they revolted against Bolton, but if they were put to the sword for their treason remains unknown.

“There’s no need for all of them,” Bolton shrugs it off casually, “I would expect you to make peaceful diplomacy with me princess. I see no need for blood shed, this can be sorted reasonably.”

“Hand him over,” Jon says his voice deep and rough from somewhere behind Sansa, “Hand over your son and we can talk. He burned Winterfell to the ground.”

“Necessities of war,” Ramsay cuts in from behind his Father, “it had to be done. The Iron born scum were crawling all over the north, what else was I to do? They were holed up in it and wouldn’t come out.”

They needed Aegon…but he wouldn’t be here for another few weeks. They hadn’t even had time to send him a warning about what’s happening. They sent a raven to him the night before but she doubted that it’s reached him yet.

“Sansa he’s stalling,” Jon says quietly beside her, “something’s wrong.”

She couldn’t help but agree, Bolton was stalling for time. It didn’t take much to figure it out though, and when she did she met Bolton’s gaze with a fierce one of her own. “You’ve side with Stannis, haven’t you?”

Bolton smiles, and she wants to slap him across the face, “I have princess…I’m surprised you hadn’t worked it out sooner.”

“Stannis wouldn’t turn on us,” Jon says, surprised, “he wanted to make me Lord of Winterfell.”

“Well considering that your half-sister married a Dornish prince and turned her loyalties towards the Targaryens, he’s reconsidered. That and yes…it was a trap. My son is wed, and wed to your _sister_.”

“ _What_?” Sansa blurts out, her skin flushed in the cold wind, “You have Arya?”

“No,” Bolton shakes his head, “but my son is lawfully wed to her. The north is _mine_.”

“Where is she?” Sansa demands angrily, urging her horse forward, “where is my sister?”

“The wall,” Bolton comments lightly, “Last I heard…Stannis sent her to the wall…to reunite with… _you_ ,” he says, pointing at Jon.  “I wonder what you’re doing down here Jon Snow…you’re supposed to be at the wall.”

“By the seven,” Sansa breaths, her heart racing in panic, Arya was in danger. The men at the wall tried to _kill_ Jon.

“I’ve had enough of this,” Ramsay says, spurring past his father. He was always a hot headed boy, and had a blood thirst unmatched. It doesn’t take much to unhorse him though, Oberyn’s spear whips out and catches him across the face before he can even reach Sansa. He lies on the ground now, in the cold wet snow and mud while a dornish spear is held at his throat.

Oberyn doesn’t even have to get off his horse, he simply gazes down at the boy and then up at Bolton, “Lay down your arms…this is over. We have twice the men you do; there is no need for bloodshed.”

“Not likely,” Bolton says as he waves for his banners.

“Sansa get behind me,” Oberyn says immediately as horses are shifted into place, Oberyn in front of her while Jon pulls up beside him. Then something odd happens, and Bolton is waving and yelling angrily but none would charge.

“Fuck off Bolton,” one yells, “One lie after another isn’t it? You told us she was _dead_.”

“Jon,” Sansa breaths softly, “Ride for the wall when this is over, find Arya…Jon I can’t trust anyone else to do it… _please_.”

“I need him _here_ Sansa,” Oberyn says, “I will send a squadron of my best warriors for your sister I promise you.”

“Oberyn,” Sansa protests.

“He’s right Sansa,” Jon cuts her off gently; “I need to be here.”

“You _love_ Arya,” Sansa frowns at him; “you’d never leave her in danger like this.”

“This is _war_ Sansa,” Jon tells her, “I don’t have a choice. Anyhow were not leaving her to die, you heard Oberyn.”

“ _Jon_ ,” Sansa protests with a glare, anger in her eyes. What was wrong with him? This was Arya they were talking about.

“ _Sansa_ ,” Oberyn cuts her off, warning in his tone, “It has to be done. I am sorry for this, but I will make sure your sister is safe.”

               She falls silent, glaring moodily at the back of Oberyn’s head. It was moments like these that she just wanted to be childish and throw snowballs at both her brother and her lover. She didn’t want to be in the middle of a war, she wanted to be safe in Winterfell, not freezing her ass off out here in the snow arguing with a resentful bannermen who refused to give up the north like a spoiled child refuses to share his toys.

               It’s over before it even began though, and what bannermen Bolton brought with him join Sansa. She learns the truth of it, that the banners had fled the Dreadfort and were holding up in the ruins of Winterfell. The storm was getting worse out here, and winter was settling in heavily. They would never make it to Winterfell in this mess.

“Oberyn,” Jon says, riding over to where he and Sansa now stand, dealing with the banners and organizing the troops. “We need to turn back for the Riverlands…we’ve received a plea for help from my Uncle Edmure…they’re under attack, Stannis sent part of his troops to the Riverlands and the other half towards the Vale.”

“He’s trying to cut us off,” Sansa grimaces, already worn from the games of war.

“The rest of Daenerys’s army won’t be here for another fortnight,” Oberyn muses aloud, “have you heard from Aegon yet?”

“Nothing,” Jon shakes his head.

“Were surrounded,” Oberyn says with dismay, “or he’s trying to do that at least.”

“We weren’t anticipating this,” Jon frowns, “We left enough to hold Riverrun at least until Daenerys arrives. This is happening faster than we planned.”

“Yes,” Oberyn says and in the end they turn back for Riverrun. They return in force though, with the combined banners of the north and what Sansa took with her from Riverrun. They ride hard, and the men are worn by the time they reach the twins. The sight that greets them is unwelcome when they arrive, the land is burning. Bodies of soldiers Baratheon, Martell and Targaryen are strewn across the uneven ground. Sansa is trembling but she tries to hide it, fear is like ice in her heart.

“If they’ve killed my uncle…” Sansa says softly, “I will have the head of the man who murdered him.”

               When they reach Riverrun the gates are shut and guards loom on the battlements above. Sansa is relieved to see they haven’t been sieged yet. They are ushered in quickly, the army behind them prepares for battle outside the gates.

“Sansa,” Edmure says as she enters the great hall, embracing her uncle.

“Uncle,” Sansa says, wiping snow and dirt and filth from her face as she looks up at him, “Thank the seven…I thought you’d been killed.”

“It won’t be long now,” Edmure warns Oberyn, “Stannis is marching for Riverrun with sellswords…I don’t know how many. We’ve held off his forces with what men you left behind here with us, but more are coming.”

“Well it’s a good thing were here,” Jon pipes up, gratefully taking what food is offered to him by the servants.

 

* * *

 

**Oberyn**

They warm themselves by the hearth in the guest chambers. Sansa baths in water so hot he can see the steam from across the room. She scrubs herself clean of blood and dirt and filth. She was not made for war, he can see that. He fears the coming hoard, fears the war that is upon them. She is not safe here but he has no way of getting her out now. He and her Uncle had readily agreed much to Sansa’s protest that she was staying within the walls of Riverrun when Stannis arrived.

“You’re troubled,” Sansa murmurs quietly beside him as they lay in the dark of the bed chamber together later on.  

“I cannot guarantee your safety here,” he says softly, “I do not like it.”

“Oberyn you’ve done your best,” Sansa tells him firmly, curling against him. They lay naked and warm side by side, their bodies bare atop the fur blankets. “I could ask for nothing more from my husband.”

“When Stannis arrives I want you to stay with the women and children,” Oberyn says pointedly, “I will leave you with a weapon. I trained you to use it and Sansa…if it comes between life and death I want you to kill any man who tries to hurt you… _promise me_ …promise me you will fight.”

“I should be out there,” Sansa argues quietly, “I shouldn’t be hiding with the women and children. I am their _queen_.”

“And you are my _wife_ ,” Oberyn says fiercely, a little harsher then he meant too. Fear laced his words, worry for her safety. “I want you _safe_.”

“Oberyn,” Sansa protests but trails off, thinking on his words. Finally she sighs, admitting defeat as she replies, “I will do as you request my love…if you promise to come back to me.”

“I will always come back to you,” Oberyn says, kissing her lightly, “I promise you that.”

 

 


	31. Chapter Thirty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle begins, and the fight for the Iron throne is fierce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Sansa**

 

The sound of battle is terrifying. She refuses to hide though, and paces the hall with her Uncle at her heels.

“Sansa I demand you go to the cellars at once,” Edmure says firmly, “If they break through those doors…”

“They haven’t even breached the gates,” Sansa snaps irritably, worry and anxiety flooding her senses. Oberyn was out there, and she didn’t know if he was dead or alive.

“Where the hell is that damned Targaryen of yours?” Edmure snaps right back at her, unhindered by her agitation, “where is this _dragon_ you promised me?”

It was as if speaking of it made it real, for moments later they heard it in the distance, dragon song.  It was so loud it made the very walls of the castle quake, dirt and dust falling down from the rafters like snow. “There’s your answer,” Sansa says tartly and turns away, biting at her nails as she stares at the huge wooden doors of the great hall. They’ve been barred shut by great wooden logs, and outside the gates are surrounded by their soldiers.

“Uncle,” Sansa says as she turns, noting Edmure’s weakened state. He sits heavily upon a nearby chair and she rushes too him, worry in her eyes. “I’m sorry for snapping…I shouldn’t…I’m just so worried and you’re so weak…Uncle you must rest.”

“ _Rest_?” He growls, “How am I to rest with those bastards at our doorstep? I can hardly lift a sword but I should be out there all the same!”

               She shifts uncomfortably in her armor, layered in black leather and wolf fur once more. She wears the crown of the north, and a dornish short sword is strapped to her hip. She should be out there, not in here, not behind these walls. She should be out there with her banners, but Oberyn told her that they would not see her harmed, that she should be safe behind the walls of Riverrun. Another booming cry and the wall vibrate with the sound. She could hear the men scream, and the noise was deafening.

“I’m so scared,” Sansa admits softly, barely above a whisper. All she wanted was to go home, to see Winterfell. She was trapped in this castle, her beloved out in the thick of the fight and she was helpless to do anything. Hours go by and they listen, pray to the seven for luck and listen some more.

She hoped they heard her, she hoped they were listening.

 

* * *

 

**Oberyn**

Death was all around him. He was covered from head to foot in blood and gore, his spear held tightly in his hand while the other clung to his shield. He turned, swung, blocked, and turned again. It was like a dance except there was a winner. His shield was cracked, he’d used it to block the heavy swing of a Warhammer and that very nearly crushed his skull. He is running, running through snow and mud and blood. His heart is racing as he fights, his mind focused on the task at hand. He is a warrior, he was built for this. He fights for his loves, for his wife and for his paramour. He fights to live and to win back the home that was so dear to his wife.

               Aegon soars overhead, his black armor shimmering in the dragon fire that pours from Rhaegal’s mouth like a waterfall.  The blast of it was deafening, people who stood to close were blown back by the force of the flames. Jon isn’t far from him, and he is impressed with the boy’s tenacity in battle. He’s good with a sword, better than he imagined if he’s being honest. He was fighting like he’d done it all his life, with a grace and ease that surprised Oberyn. This warrior was not the boy who fumbled with a dornish short sword, trying to impress his sister’s new husband. He wondered where this talent sprang from, or if it was just the fear and rush of adrenaline in his system, making him fight harder and with more determination.

“Drive them back!” Oberyn commands his soldiers, his voice ringing across the battlefield, “Drive them out!”

“There’s too many of them!” Jon shouts back, “We can’t hold them for much longer!”

“Fight,” Oberyn urges Jon, “Fight boy!”

Oberyn knew if they could hold out Aegon could finish them off with that dragon. They weren’t far from victory, just another blast or two of dragon fire should do it. Stannis is smart though, he’s prepared for dragons. Aegon is forced higher and higher to avoid their weapons, but the unthinkable happens. Oberyn sees it happen in slow motion, and he has no time to run. Aegon loses his grip as the dragon jerks to the right to sharply, and he is flung off the back of the dragon, clinging only to the reigns. He struggles to climb back up but the dragon is turned the wrong way and the fire that pours from his mouth is going in the wrong direction. Oberyn runs, as fast as his legs will carry him and Jon is right behind him. He is screaming for his men to pull back, to run…to _watch out_. The blast throws them both into the air and down again, slamming into the hard ground. He blacks out after that, he can’t hear anything except his own heartbeat and the blood that is running down from his temple. Jon is sprawled out a few feet away from him, his face up towards the sky and his breathing panicked. Pain rips down his arm and he realizes there is a splinter of wood piercing his right shoulder. Blood oozes from his wounds, thick and dark. He doesn’t remember anything after that, but when he wakes up Jon is gone. He can’t get up and there is a ringing in his ears that won’t fade. The world around him is tipping left and right, and so he lays his cheek against the cold muddy snow mixed with grass and stares at a pair of dark booted feet walking towards him.

               He realizes it’s Jon, and for some reason the boy is _smiling_. “Don’t worry,” he tells Oberyn softly, “I’ll look after Sansa for you.”

“Jon,” Oberyn coughs, blood on his lips, “Jon…where are…”

“We’ve won,” Jon reassures him, “and Aegon has gone to get Sansa. She was injured in the blast; part of the great hall was knocked in when the dragon fire hit it.”

“I need…help me…” Oberyn groans, trying to sit up but is unable too. He cries out, Jon’s boot pressing down on his left shoulder.

“No,” Jon smiles down at him and there is a strange glimmer in the boys eyes that he doesn’t like, “Finally….I have waited for so long. I’ve played the part of a good brother don’t you think? I was loyal and loving…and she loves me. You even bought it…and to think, your sister did too now that I think about it.”

“What?” Oberyn says, confused and blurry eyed as he turns his face up towards Jon Snow.

“Elia was so sweet…so kind….and I really did care for her Oberyn I really did….but the dragon must have three heads,” Jon smiles down at him, there was something dark about his smile.

“I don’t… _what are you talking about_?” Oberyn gasps when he twists his foot and tries to shift out from under it, only to cause himself more pain.

“Don’t you get it Oberyn?” Jon grins down at him, “I did tell you didn’t I… _Targaryens are hard to kill_.”

His mind whirls at Jon’s words until one horrible conclusion dawns upon him. It wasn’t possible, he was dead. How could he be here now? What force could have possibly brought back that monster? That madman who caused so much pain to his family? “ _No_ ,” Oberyn cries out with all his strength, rolls onto his good shoulder with what strength he has left, his bloody fingers grasping at Jon’s boot as he turns to walk away. It slips away from his fingers and he has no energy left in him to fight.  Sansa was in danger, they _all_ were. The last thing he sees before he loses consciousness is a pair of black boots walking away from him across the hard cold ground and the sound of wolves howling in the night.

* * *

 

**Sansa**

 

She feels weightless in his arms, blood dripped from her cheek and down her chin. Her body ached everywhere, and she pleaded all the same for him to stop. He wouldn't listen to her, as she was carried out towards Rhaegal, Aegon cradling her close to his chest. "I'm getting you out of here Sansa...I'm sorry...I promised Daenerys I'd keep you safe...and I promised the same to that mad dornish husband of yours."

"What...happened," Sansa croaks weakly, being handed over to another soldier while he climbed onto Rhaegal's back. She was passed up to him gently, Sansa doing her best to aid him in this. Her arms were like rubber and her legs were all but useless right now.  The whole side of the great hall caved in under the weight of dragon fire, spraying molten bits of stone in every direction. She was lucky to even be alive, and she had no idea where her Uncle was. 

"It's my fault," Aegon says profusely as they take flight, Sansa clinging to him desperately. She was terrified of flying on the back of this dragon, but she had no choice. "I'm so sorry," Aegon says, "I lost control...they flung some kind of mechanized spear on a pulley right at me, I jerked the reins hard to the right to miss it but I went to far, it threw me off of Rhaegal's back...unfortunately I'd been laying waste to some of Stannis's men at the time. I was clinging to the reins and I just...." Aegon cut off, fear and guilt glittering in his eyes. He'd never meant to hurt anyone, he wasn't expecting that to happen. 

"Not...your...fault..." Sansa mutters against the black armor of his breast plate, "Not....fault..." she coughs a little before adding, "where's Oberyn?"

"I..." Aegon says, his gaze drifting over the battlefield below him, "Sansa....Jon found me...."

"What..." Sansa says, alert all of a sudden despite her pain, she looks up at him, her red hair mingling with his silver in the wind, "Where is he Aegon...where's Oberyn?"

"Jon found me.." Aegon says quietly, "Sansa...we have to get out of here...your injured, you need a maester. Those are _burns_ on your arm. I did that...I never meant to hurt you."

"Aegon where is he?" Sansa demands, tears burning in her eyes. She didn't want to hear it, she didn't want to know...she didn't....she didn't...

"He's dead," Aegon says solemnly, "Sansa...I'm so sorry."

It doesn't take much after that, and Sansa can't recall the entirety of the conversation. She remembers crying and Aegon fighting to keep her still, blood and tears mingled together in a muddy smear across his breast plate as she sobs. She wanted to go back but he refused, she wanted to get off and run away but she couldn't. She wanted to go home, she wanted her parents...she wanted Oberyn. 

 


	32. Chapter Thirty-Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa deals with the aftermath from the Battle for Riverrun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Sansa**

_To:  His grace, Prince Doran Nymeros Martell of House Martell, ruling Prince of Dorne._

_From: Princess Sansa Stark Nymeros Martell of House Martell, Princess of Dorne._

~~Your grace, I regret to inform you~~

~~Good brother I write to tell you that~~

_Doran,_

_Forgive me for the informality of this letter. I write to inform you of the death of your brother, my husband Prince Oberyn. I don’t know what to do right now, all I can do is write this letter and ask that you give the attached note to Ellaria…._

 

 _Ellaria_ , Sansa thinks as she stares at the blank paper in front of her. She can’t do this; she can’t write to her lover and tell her of their beloved’s demise. She didn’t want to write this letter, she didn’t want to hide behind the thick stone walls of Dragonstone. She wanted to be out there with her dornish militia, scouring the Riverlands for the dead, for Oberyn. Ser Daemon Sand promised her himself that he’d find Oberyn for her, that his remains would be returned to Sunspear with honor. She didn’t want to believe he was dead until she saw his body, she didn’t care what Jon or Aegon told her.

               Outside the wind howls and the rain pelts against the stone walls violently. The sound of the sea crashing against the stone is almost soothing, it makes her feel like the world is revolting against the death of her beloved, the very earth beneath her feet rising up to cry out her agony for her. She didn’t know how she was going to tell Ellaria he was dead….she hardly accepted it herself.

               It was _her_ fault, she thinks miserably. Oberyn would be alive and well and perfectly safe back in Dorne if it weren’t for her, and Ellaria will hate her for it. _She_ hated herself for it, and it took weeks of sleep and milk of the poppy for her to even be in her right mind, well enough for her to write to Doran. She felt like her Lady Mother in those moments, stricken by grief and madness as Bran lay dying in his bed chambers. She had been much the same, unwilling to hear Jon or Aegon, unwilling to accept the truth, unwilling to listen to even what Daenerys tried to tell her. She tried too, and she thinks the dragon queen pitied her. She had lost her own husband at a young age as well, her beloved Drogo and she was never the same.

Her arm stings painfully, the burns weren’t as bad as they’d appeared to be luckily. Still, the maester said her right arm will be severely scarred for the rest of her days. Aegon was beside himself over it, despite how Daenerys tried to reassure him that it wasn’t even his fault. Someone knocks at the door behind her and she doesn’t even bother turning, she knows its Jon.

“I’ve brought you supper,” he says, watching the candlelight flicker in the dim of her bed chambers.

“I’m not hungry,” Sansa says quietly, never turning her gaze away from the blank page before her.

“Sansa you have to eat,” Jon sighs, setting the tray of food beside her on the desk. “ _For me_ …please…eat something.”

Food held no appeal to her, and as she looked at the tray, a chunk of black bread, a slice of cheese and a goblet of lemon sweet she turns away from it, unable to stomach the sight any longer. Jon sighs, running a hand through his mop of unruly dark curls, “Sansa…you _love_ lemons…I figured you at least want that.”

When she doesn’t say anything he presses on, “I went all the way out into the storm just to fetch you those lemons you know…” he says, watching the emotions play across her face in the candlelight, “I was soaked to the bone by the time I made it back into the castle. I’ve also had them make you lemon cakes for dessert if you want some… _or_ I’ll just have to eat them myself.”

Sansa spares him a glance and then looks at the goblet. “Jon…I just don’t have an appetite.”

“I know,” Jon says softly, pulling a chair up so that he can sit beside her. He catches her hands in his, the leather of his gloves soft against her cold bare skin. “But you have to eat…Oberyn wouldn’t want you to waste away like this, he would want you to keep fighting…to make his death worthwhile…he won you back your _home_ Sansa… _our_ home…and now we must fight to keep it.”

“I never even told him I loved him,” Sansa murmurs, her eyes distant as her mind drifts to Oberyn’s smile, his laugh, the way he teased her…the way he loved her. “I loved him and I never told him…not even once….I was too scared to Jon…every time I love someone they’re taken from me…and apparently even if I try to hide that love they still get taken anyways,” she finished bitterly, tears trailing down her cheeks.

“We’ll find Stannis,” Jon murmurs into her hair as he pulls her into his arms, letting her weep against the leather of his doublet, “We’ll find him.”

He hadn’t been there at the battle she’d been told, Stannis hadn’t even felt her worthy of his actually being there, much to her irritation. He’d sent a part of his military to handle the situation, as if she were beneath his notice and not worthy of his time. When she finds him, he’ll learn just how great an error he’d made in his judgment of her.

 

* * *

 

**Jon (Rhaegar)**

 

               She was restless and defiant. It wasn’t something he anticipated in her after he left Oberyn to die. He thought she would crumble like a leaf of grass in a heavy wind, but instead she endures like a winter rose in a snow storm. She refuses food and drink and any shred of happiness he might offer her. She refuses to accept defeat, to accept Oberyn’s death. For weeks he stood by, he sat at her bedside and read to her while she slept, and helped the maester change her bandages. She cried in her dreams, sometimes the milk of the poppy made people hallucinate. She thought he was Eddard Stark, and she whispered her secrets to him in a half dazed awareness.

She told him things that she would never have told him had she been totally aware of her surroundings. She told him of how she’d ran to Cersei when her Father tried to pack up his household and return to Winterfell, she told him it was all her fault that he was dead. Now she’s brought the same fate down upon her husband, and internally she was tearing herself apart. He wanted to give her a song, he thinks as he watches her. If any woman in this world deserved a song, it would be her. She told him other things, mumbling in her dreams. She dreamt of a song in her dreams, of a prince and her rescuer. He thinks that he is seeing her without her mask; he is seeing Sansa Stark in her heart of hearts.  She is revealed to him, the gentle and overly trusting young woman who’d she been so long ago, still buried deep inside of the hardened Lady of Winterfell that she has become. This young woman wanted to be loved, she wanted a happy life and a good home, she wanted to give her beloved as many children as he desired of her.

She was probably the only other person aside from himself that knows every song and every story of the old days. They were so much alike and he wanted her to see that, because maybe when the time comes for him to reveal himself she might trust him. Lyanna trusted him, and she understood his cause. Perhaps she would be able to do the same.

Today however, would not be that day.

               He follows her throughout the castle because he doesn’t trust her to walk on her own. She is as stubborn as an aurochs, carrying the letter to Prince Doran between pale elegant fingers. He catches her as she stumbles, her free hand digging nails into the rock wall as she climbs the steps towards the tower of the aviary. The ravens are kept there, and despite his protests that she should return to bed she won’t listen to him. He grew up in Dragonstone, he knows that the stairs and the floors are uneven and dangerous especially when someone was a frail and as tired as Sansa Stark was.

               His willful supposed sister was now in charge of the entire dornish militia, and would take Oberyn’s place at the war council of Daenerys Targaryen. No doubt Doran will send another to take over in time but for now Sansa would have to make do.

“Let me do it,” she scowls at him; she’s been bitter and hateful for days now. She won’t let anyone help her, she won’t hear of anyone doing anything for her. She attaches the letter for Doran to the leg of the Raven, and with wavering determination she sends the bird on its way out the bay windows. 

“Let me help you down the stairs, they’re steep and uneven Sansa…please,” Jon presses her pointedly, “I realize you don’t want people thinking you weak but it’s _me_ …you can trust me.”

She scowls at him and turns away, determinedly clambering down the steps with both hands on the wall as she takes one step at a time.  Jon sighs, letting her have this defiance. He follows closely, his hand snaking out to grab her elbow when she stumbles, her foot sliding on the wet stone. She lands hard on her backside, and promptly starts to cry. He doesn’t say anything, he just swings her up into his arms and carries her the rest of the way back down, depositing her safely back on her bed in her room.

“I need to go see to the supply routes,” Jon tells her gently as she rolls onto her side, her back to him. “I’ll check on you later alright? Maybe we can sup together?”

He leaves before she can reply because he knows she’d just make up excuses to get out of it. He heads down into the great hall and spots Aegon fiddling with new reigns for Rhaegal.  Part two of his plan was ready to go he’d been told, Varys little birds were everywhere.

“Hey,” Jon says, catching one end of the reins to help Aegon bind the leather.

“Hey,” Aegon says as he concentrates on what he’s doing.

“I was thinking,” Jon begins as he ties off one end, “Maybe when the storm clears you could take Sansa home…back to Winterfell I mean. Let her see it…be there…I think it would do her good and make her feel a little better. She’s not fairing so well here.”

“She doesn’t like Rhaegal,” Aegon says hesitantly, “and she’s as hateful as a wildcat lately…her hearts all but turned to ice.”

“She’s just brokenhearted,” Jon tells him quietly, “love makes people do strange things. Besides that, I think she might like Rhaegal better if you let her have another go at it. She was half awake when you brought her back here, and she’d just been through a terrible ordeal. Just talk to her will you? Try and get her let you take her to Winterfell just for the day or so…give her some place peaceful and quiet to think.”

“I’ll try,” Aegon says uncomfortably. It was clear the boy was feeling guilty about the whole thing, and Jon needed him to reconnect with Sansa if this was going to work. They’d been estranged from each other since the whole thing happened. Sansa doesn’t blame Aegon for it, but Aegon blames himself.

“Good,” Jon smiles and helps Aegon gather the new reins, “Let’s get Rhaegal fitted with these then, yeah?”


	33. Chapter Thirty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aegon and Sansa visit Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

  **Sansa**

  
He had been pestering her all morning. She had business to attend too, she had to deal with the troops and organize the militia. Ser Daemon Sand would be doing this but she’d sent him to the Riverlands for Oberyn, and the other two remaining bannermen at her side, Ser’s Manwoody and Dalt went with a squadron of men north weeks before on orders from Oberyn before his demise to retrieve Arya.

She hasn’t heard from either party.

“Just come with me,” Aegon urges her lightly, matching his stride with hers, “Just for today.”

“No,” Sansa says firmly, “My feet stay firmly on the ground.”

“You’ll love it,” Aegon tells her, “you will…I promise.”

“Not likely,” Sansa tells him as she reviews the supply orders that are to be sent to Dorne first thing in the morning.

“ _Sansa_ ,” Aegon says, catching her hands in his. She lets go of the quill in her hand and looks up at him, “I know you want to see Winterfell. Let me take you there…you can sit with your bannermen, talk about the castle…what needs to be done in the north. We’ll head for home when you’re ready.”

“If I agree to this,” Sansa says, pointing her finger at him, “Do you swear that you and Jon will leave me be afterwards?”

“Promise,” Aegon grins down at her boyishly, “We just both agree you need to get out for a while…and I figured you’d like to see your home.”

“Oh _fine_ ,” Sansa huffs quietly, looking perfectly irritated and mildly defeated.

“Excellent,” Aegon grins down at her, “Let me ready Rhaegal…we’ll leave in say…an hour?”

“Yes _yes_ ,” Sansa waves him off as she turns back for the castle. She would need her travelling furs and a heavy cloak for this.

 

               When she returns, Rhaegal is fluttering anxiously outside while Daenerys strokes his muzzle lightly, cooing to him softly in high Valerian. Aegon is outfitted just as heavily as she, a thick cloak lined with fur with matching gloves all in Targaryen colors. She wears what Oberyn gifted her, a black leather overcoat lined with wolf fur and a black studded tunic beneath it. She would need to wear breeches this time she thinks, riding on the back of a dragon in a gown was horrible the last time she’d done it.  The wind had been so cold it was as if it cut right into her, and burrowing against Aegon was no help even with his red cape slung across her shoulders.

“Be careful,” Daenerys warns her lightly as she helps Sansa climb up onto Rhaegals back, Aegon following behind her. He swings his leg up over the other side and settles behind her, while Sansa shifts her weight so that she doesn’t have to lean against him too much.

“Try and be back before dark,” Daenerys calls up to them, “I think a storm is coming.”

“Daenerys,” Sansa calls, “the stores…they need replenishing…”

“I know,” Daenerys says with a smile, fending her off gently, “Sansa I will handle it. Don’t _worry_ …go…see your home, and _be careful_.”

 

               They fly north, Sansa burrowed back against Aegon despite what she wanted. It was cold even under thick furs, even with the courtesy of Aegon’s cloak tails wrapped around her so that her back was pressed warmly against his front under his cloak. They were both shivering by the time they’d reached the half-way point, but Sansa kept her eyes firmly closed.

“Sansa,” Aegon says softly, laughter in his voice, “Sansa…open your eyes.”

“No,” She murmurs somewhere near his shoulder, trying to shield her face from the icy wind.

“Sansa you have to see it….the whole of the north is beneath you, and you can see it all…just open your eyes.”

“No,” Sansa says firmly, shaking her head.

“Sansa,” Aegon laughs, a little exasperated, “ _Open.Your.Eyes_ ,” he tells her, stressing the syllables of the last word playfully.

She grumbles against his shoulder and dares to peak, gasping at the sight before her when she does. It was _beautiful_. The icy wind in her hair, she turns her face away from his shoulder to look upon the landscape. Everything was covered in heavy winter snow, holdfasts and farms smoked cheerfully from hearths, puffs of white smoke billowing up into the daytime sky. Trees were laced with ice and snow like a bridal gown, shimmering in the sunlight. It was a freedom she never knew before, soaring high in the air above everyone, the wind in her hair and the land beneath her. She wondered for a single moment if she could warg into a dragon, if she could do this again on her own someday. She wasn’t sure if it was safe though, dragons were full of magic but so was she. There was a danger she thinks, in mixing that magic.  She would have no idea what the consequences if any, would be if she tried.

“It’s…” Sansa says, trying to grasp the right word for it, “it’s _beautiful_ …it’s…”

“I know,” Aegon says near her ear, mirth in his eyes and in his voice, “It’s my favorite thing in the whole world…riding dragons.”

“I never imagined…” Sansa trails off, her gaze drifting over the land below them. Aegon was being especially careful to take her far around the Riverlands, far from the devastation that would surely unsettle her should she see it. 

               They cross over the white knife, half frozen though she could scarcely make out little lines of water, coursing between the ice like blood through the veins of the earth.  When they reach Winterfell Aegon circles it, letting her get a good idea of how much damage has been done to it. It makes her heart ache, seeing Winterfell in such disrepair. It’s been so long since she was home, but now looking at it she wanted to leave. Looking at it was unbearable, and tears burned in her eyes as she thought of all that’s happened to it.  They land in the snow just outside the gates, Aegon catching her by the waist and helping her down off of the dragon. They are greeted by her banners, men who’ve set up camp in the ruins of her old home.

“Milady,” one says, approaching with a look of relief in her eyes, “Thank the seven you are alright. We heard what happened at Riverrun.”

“Thank you Lady Mormont,” Sansa smiles softly at him, “I’m so relieved to see you all well.”

“When we heard you were alive, we’ve left Stannis,” admits Lady Mormont, “We only allied with him to take down the Boltons.”

“I know,” Sansa reassures them all, “really I understand. Though….” She trails off, thinking for a moment before adding, “I know you are all aware that I’ve allied with Daenerys Targaryen.”

“We know,” says Lord Glover, “We heard.”

“We’ll follow your lead Milady,” adds Lady Mormont, “Mind you…” she says as she eyes Rhaegal, “I’m not too particularly fond of dragons.”

“He won’t hurt any of you,” Aegon reassures her, standing close behind Sansa, “He’ll keep the tree line until we’re ready to leave.”

“What brings you to the ruins of Winterfell on such a fine day anyways?” Asks Mormont with laughter in her voice, motioning with a hand towards the swirl of snow in the air and the freezing chill on the wind.

“Memories,” Sansa smiles at her as she and Aegon follow the others beyond the gates, her eyes shifting over the broken down ramparts and battlements above. Most of it was gone save for some of the towers and walkways, and even then they were in heavy disrepair.

 

               Memories are everywhere it seems in Winterfell. The castle is picked over clean save for a few odds and ends. What the fire didn’t destroy and the scavengers didn’t steal, were still precious to her. A few old books left over in the library, some of her sewing needles tucked away in a silk wrap, lying haphazardly under a cabinet, one of her Mother’s one of her mother’s glass combs, imported all the way from Tyrosh, and an old fur cloak that belonged to her Lord Father, the edges of it frayed and worn. She walked the empty halls like a ghost for a long while, Aegon stayed behind with her banners to discuss war plans.

She finds her way out into the godswood, sits beneath the old weirwood strangely untouched by the fire and stares into the cool black pond at its feet.  “It’s useless Father,” Sansa says aloud to the cold air around her, leaning back against the tree with a defeated sigh, “I can’t rebuild Winterfell.”

There is no sound in the godswood save for the creaking of old branches as snow drifts down from the sky. “I’m as useful as a bucket with a hole in it,” Sansa says sourly, glaring at her reflection in the glassy black water.

_Sansa…_

The voice startles her, and she jumps up abruptly from where she sat, whirling around. The voice was in the wind, soft and faint but she heard it all the same.  She listens for a long while, and looks in every direction. _Maybe she was just imagining things_ , she thinks as she sits back down, leaning against the old white tree. She trails her fingers along the roots by her feet, old and strong as they root themselves into the ground.

_Sansa!_

_There it was again_ she thinks, sitting up quickly, her gaze scanning her surroundings, “Who’s there?” She calls, her voice echoing through the old forest.

This place was cursed she thinks, getting to her feet. Her family was haunting these old ruins, and they were crying out to her. “I’m sorry,” Sansa says aloud, tears stinging in her eyes, “ _I’m so sorry_ ….it’s all my fault! I’m sorry!”

There is no sound save for the wind in the trees, snow fluttering down in light sheets and catching in her hair. She shivers from the cold, pulling her furs around her tighter. She needed to get in doors before she caught a cold. She runs from the godswood, sorrow and guilt ringing in her ears. Her home would be forever haunted by the ghosts of her family, their mournful cries would haunt her all her days she thinks.

               When she finds the others, they have made camp in the long winding corridors that weren’t entirely destroyed. Water from the hot springs still courses through these walls, and they were still warm to the touch. With some blankets they managed to block off the entry way on either side of the corridor, and caged some heat into the small space. It was cramped but warm she thinks, climbing over rolled up beds and clothes. Aegon is seated with some of the men near a campfire, and when he sees her he looks alarmed. “You’ve been crying,” he says, getting to his feet, “are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Sansa sniffs, wiping the tears from her eyes, “I just want to say goodbye to my Father before we go…his bones made it to the crypts here from what I understand.”

Aegon nods solemnly, “Shall I accompany you?”

“Yes,” Sansa nods after a thoughtful pause, “I think that would be best. It is dark down there, and I don’t know what’s lurking in that darkness since this place was abandoned.”

               They make their way down into the crypt, Aegon and Sansa both carrying a torch. It’s hardly touched she thinks, walking the line of stone statues towards where her Lord Father was laid to rest. She kneels before it, sliding her soft fingers over the marble tomb. She whispers her love to him, her sorrow and an apology. Aegon stays back, giving her space and time to grieve.  She hopes her family is at rest, but the voice in the godswood makes her think otherwise. Every statue was armed with a sword, so the ghosts would not stir but she wonders if maybe it no longer held true as there was no Stark in Winterfell anymore.

“Is that…” Aegon says, his eyes trailing to a statue farther up near the door.

“Yes,” Sansa nods, “That’s my aunt Lyanna.”

Aegon steps closer, holding his torch up to gaze upon Lyanna’s cold stone face, “She’s beautiful.”

“So I was told,” Sansa agrees quietly, walking over to stand beside him. Her gaze drifts over the tomb, a bitter resentment twisting in her heart as she looks up at her aunt, “I hate her.”

Aegon looks surprised by this comment, and then turns his gaze back up to the woman before them, “I did too for a long while…I thought she was the reason I lost my Father and Mother.”

“She is,” Sansa scowls up at the statue, “She ruined _everything_.”

“She was in _love_ ,” Aegon says softly, looking down at her, “I hated her for the longest time but in the end I forgave her…I forgave my Lord Father too…they were in love. You can’t begrudge them with hate because they wanted to be together.”

“I hate her all the same,” Sansa says darkly and starts to turn away until something catches her eye, and a cold wraith creeps over her bones as she sees it. “Someone’s broken into her tomb.”

“What?” Aegon says, stepping to the right so that he could see around the side of the tomb. The marble and stone had been bashed in, rubble scattered across the floor. “That’s terrible.”

“Yes,” Sansa says as she stares at the rubble, “Wait….what’s that?”

“What’s what?” Aegon frowns, watching Sansa pick through the rubble. There was a slim brown _something_ perched precariously at the opening of the hole, and much to his distaste Sansa reached in and grabbed it.

She too felt a little disgusted; shaking her hand free of invisible filth as she brushed what looked like a leather bound journal clean of dust and dirt. An old piece of paper fell from it,  and when she picked it up and read what it said, her mouth hung open in shock.

“What?” Aegon presses, “Sansa you look like a proper Tully doing that,” he grins at her and she whacks him playfully on the shoulder.

She shakes her head as she holds the page up to the torchlight, “It’s a birthing document.”

“You’re not about to tell me what I think you’re going to tell me are you?” Aegon says wearily as his eyes skim over the page. “They were _married_ …”

“Well they had to be,” Sansa says as she stares down at the paper, “Jon can’t have the last name of Targaryen without it.”

 


	34. Chapter Thirty-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Aegon return home to Dragonstone, Jaime Lannister speaks with Doran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Sansa**

 

They end up staying the night, huddled under thick tarps and buried beneath piles of fur and blankets. They sit together, heads bent over the worn leather journal near a lantern that Aegon propped up on an empty wooden box. “I can’t read a damn bit of it,” Sansa scowls, “it’s all in old high valerian. Maester Luwin taught us the language when we were younger but I hardly ever used it, my Valerian is a bit scattered. Can you read it?”

“Some of it,” Aegon squints at the pages, mouthing words as he reads. “It’s a journal…she’s just…talking.”

“About what?” Sansa presses gently, “I can’t imagine my Father entombed her with this journal for no reason…surely there must be something important in it.”

“I can manage about as much as you can,” Aegon tells her as he takes the book from her hands, flipping through the pages. “Daenerys could read it though.”

“She’s going to be cross because we didn’t come back today,” Sansa tells him with a sigh, leaning back against the warmth of the stone wall behind her. She could practically feel the hot springs rushing through every brick against her back. The wind blows harder and she shivers, burrowing deeper under her blankets, “I don’t know how they’re enduring out here without a proper castle. Winter like this is _deadly_.”

“They were talking of moving camp,” Aegon says as he leans back against the wall beside her, “They were saying that if the snow got any worse they’d have to go. They need a proper stronghold for weather like this.”

“I don’t want any of them freezing to death on my account,” Sansa says softly, “Winterfell is a ruin…nobody’s going to bother with it, they might as well go and find some place warm and dry to wait out the winter.”

Aegon nods and picks up the journal, reading over the entries. They sit like that for a long time, until Sansa nods off against his shoulder and he moves his arm to encircle her, keeping her warm. When she wakes later on it’s early morning, the sun is barely peaking over the horizon and much to her horror she’s drooled in her sleep, drooled on the crown prince no less. She wipes it away from his tunic before he wakes and gets to her feet, easing her way out from under his arm so as not to wake him.

               Outside the snow is waist deep, and she had to dig her way out of the corridor because the snow had piled up nearly to her chest. Now she wades through the snow drifts, stumbling here and there as she works her way towards Rhaegal. She finds him near the tree line, buried under snow but sleeping contently. When he catches her scent one golden eye cracks open to look at her, and then he raises his head, snow fluttering in every direction as he moves.

“Easy,” Sansa coos softly, “I was just making sure you were alright.”

He shakes the snow from his scales and pelts her with it much to her dismay. Stretching his wings he yawns, and then blinks into the morning light.  He watches her curiously as she brushes the snow from her face and hair, laughing a little despite herself. At first she thinks he’s going to charge right at her, but really he’s noticed something behind her, rushing past with his long tail swinging, Sansa managing to dive to the right before he smacks her with it in his rush.

“Are you alright?” Aegon laughs, sleepy eyed with his silver hair in disarray. Sansa has fallen on her backside right into the snow drift, and he rushes over, pulling her up and helping her brush the snow off of her gown.

“I’m fine,” Sansa blushes brightly, “I’m not hurt.”

“Sorry,” he tells her earnestly with a smile on his lips, “he’s just a baby.”

               They eat breakfast with her banners, and afterwards they pack up and prepare to head back to Dragonstone. Sansa is especially earnest to show Daenerys the journal; she wanted to know what it said. Before long they are ready, and after bidding her banners goodbye she climbs up onto Rhaegal with Aegon and they head back.  It is a beautiful sight in the early morning; the ruins of Winterfell glittered in the sunlight, ice crystals gathering on old overhangs and empty towers.  The long flight back is quiet at first; both of them were still a little worn from the cold of the night before. She had instructed her banners to do what they must, if they must abandon Winterfell then that is what they must do. She wanted no one to freeze to death on her account, she wanted no one going hungry or catching ill because of her.

“Take the reins,” Aegon says shaking his left hand out as he hands the left rein over to Sansa.

“Aegon,” Sansa says nervously, “I can’t even ride a horse very well…how do you expect me to fly a _dragon_?”

“It’s easy,” Aegon reassures her, handing her the right as he shakes out his other hand, “My hands are sore…the cold is making them stiff. That and we’ve been travelling for hours now….you should fly for a little while.”

“Aegon I can’t do this…let’s just land,” Sansa presses, “We can rest and then continue on.”

Her hands were visibly shaking as she held the reins, the hum of a living dragon echoed through the leather in her hands. “It’s easy,” he says near her ear, “I’m doing most of the work. When you want to go left…” he says, catching her left hand and tugging it to the left, “you pull gently to the left…and when you want to go right,” he says, tugging her right hand gently to the right, “You pull gently to the right…you use your feet as well, slight pressure of the left to turn left, and slight pressure on the right to turn right. Now for diving, you press your body weight down like this…” he says, Sansa gasping sharply as he presses against her, the two of them dropping into a steep dive on Rhaegal’s back. “Then, to pull up…” he says, catching both her hands and leaning back, pulling her with him as her hands hold onto the reins. The dragon pulls up sharply and the level out,  still hundreds of feet from the ground. “Easy,” he smiles at her and she can’t help but glare at him a little, her heart still racing. “What?” he laughs, “I told you it wouldn’t be that bad.”

“Don’t you ever just…. _drop us_ like that without warning me,” Sansa tells him pointedly, thumping him on the shoulder for good measure.

“I’m sorry,” he laughs though there is mirth in his eyes, and even Sansa can’t stay mad for long. She smiles a little, blushing hotly in the sunlight.

“Just… _warn_ me next time ok?” Sansa tells him, clinging to the reins as she tries to settle her nerves.

“Hey,” he points out, “but I got you to smile.”

“I guess,” she grumbles a little, but still can’t seem to stay angry. Flying a dragon was both exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

They go on for hours after that, switching the reins back and forth between them every now and then. When they finally saw Dragonstone in the distance it was near dark. Rhaegal let out a joyful cry at the sight of home, answered by Drogon and Viserion in the distance. When they land, they are greeted by stable hands and dornish soldiers alike. Sansa and Aegon stumble into the great hall shortly after, windswept and exhausted.   


“Well,” Daenerys says as she notes their appearance, “you’ve been busy.”

“We were snowed in dear aunt,” Aegon explains, “I couldn’t fly us out in that weather so we camped for the night with some of Princess Sansa’s bannermen.”

“I trust everything went well,” Daenerys says, following them down into the kitchens where they were served hot meals.

“Excellent,” Aegon reassured her, and when Daenerys looked at Sansa she gave her a reassuring nod.

“What is the state of Winterfell?” Daenerys says, watching the two eat as she takes a seat at the end of the table they sit at.

“It’s a ruin,” Sansa sighs, “it’s just…there’s nothing to even _guard_. I told my bannermen they might as well find somewhere warm and dry to hold up in and wait the winter out if the weather gets any worse.”

Daenerys nods thoughtfully, “The rest of my militia has arrived this morning, we’ll be ready to move out in near a week’s time. We have the riverlands, the north and the stormlands at our disposal. I say we make for the reach.”

“You want to take on the Tyrells?” Sansa says incredulously, “Margarey Tyrell is still queen of Westeros at the moment, though I don’t know how she’s managed to cling to that throne so long considering who and what Tommen is.”

“The Tyrells are probably holding up the whole damn keep,” Aegon muses, “they probably won’t give it up and thus why they haven’t been kicked out yet.”

“If Margarey isn’t queen,” Sansa says thoughtfully, “Then there is no heir to the throne, no ruler to take Tommen’s place. Stannis will press his claim even harder now.”

“Let me deal with Stannis,” Daenerys says firmly, “I want you to deal with the Tyrells personally. You know Margarey Tyrell; she was your friend once as I remember you telling me. Try and reason with her, get them to stand down and join us. Swear fealty to me and none shall be harmed. Resist me and they will face dragon fire.”

“Sounds good,” Sansa nods as she finishes the last of her soup, “I need bath…but later I was wondering if you could translate this for me,” Sansa tells Daenerys, pushing the journal towards her, “It belonged to my aunt…I found it inside her tomb in Winterfell…someone had broken into it…and it was just sitting there inside of the tomb. I think my Father buried her with it, so I’m wondering if it’s important somehow. It’s all in old high valerian and neither Aegon nor I could translate it very well.”

“I’ll take a look at it,” Daenerys nods, taking the journal and flipping through the pages, “This is very old. This language is from the time of my ancestor Aegon the Conqueror. I wonder how she knew such a language.”

“No idea,” Sansa shrugs as she gets to her feet, Aegon standing as she does. Both she and Daenerys stare at him curiously, but out of the corner of her eye Sansa could see Daenerys trying to hide a smile. “I’ll check in with you later,” Sansa says, smiling a little as she turns and leaves the room.

“A little obvious…don’t you think?” Daenerys muses aloud to Aegon after Sansa leaves.

“I was just being polite,” Aegon tells her, sitting back down to finish his dinner.

 

* * *

 

**Jon (Rhaegar)**

 

They had been gone for nearly two days and already he can see a change in her. She’s healthier looking, livelier than before. She’s actually _smiling_ and that in itself was a good thing. It had been well over a month now since she lost Oberyn, and though there is sorrow still glittering in her eyes she smiles once in a while. She actually gets out of bed; she makes an effort with her appearance and best of all she’s finally eating breakfast with him. If he’d have known taking her out for a ride on a dragon would have shaken her from her grief he would have done it sooner.

               It’s not all gone though, not entirely. He stills catches her weeping from time to time and he thinks she’s feels guilty for finding even a moment of happiness. She tells him she doesn’t want to be happy, that she shouldn’t be because Oberyn wasn’t there and he was gone, that it was her fault and she didn’t _deserve_ to be happy.

“It isn’t your fault,” Jon reassures her as she cries against his shoulder, just hours before she was smiling and now she was sobbing against his chest, her tears wet against the velvet of his doublet. She was hiding something from him too though he knew what that was. She and Aegon have been skirting around him for a week now, whispering behind his back. He knew what they were hiding, he was just waiting for them to tell him or tell Daenerys. “Sansa look at me,” he says firmly, catching her by the shoulders firmly, forcing her to meet his gaze, “Sansa it is not your fault. Stop blaming yourself…you didn’t do this to him. He wouldn’t want you living like this. He would want you happy, he would want you to smile… _I_ miss your smile. Your beautiful when you smile you know.”

She looks at him weirdly for that comment but wipes the tears from her eyes, pulling free from his grip, “I’m sorry…Its just…I’m so up and down all the time….I dream about him….all the time…I hear his voice in my dreams and everywhere I go I think I see him…there are thousands of dornishmen outside and every one of them has Oberyn’s face…his voice….it doesn’t matter where I go I see him everywhere. Hell I see him in the servant staff here in the castle…I see him in the village down by the shore. I try to smile…I try to be happy like he would want but I can’t see to pick myself up Jon.”

“That’s when you have to fight the hardest,” he points out as he helps her to her feet, walking with her back up to her bed chambers, “I’m not going anywhere you know…I’ll be here whenever you need me. I will help you get through this Sansa.”

               She grumbles something, a flash of the bitter and hateful version of her rising to the surface for a brief moment. There are parts of her still struggling to cope, but he can see that she is fighting. He leaves her in her bed chambers to rest, and goes about his duties. It is weeks before Daenerys summons him, and by then he knew that she knew. She’d been avoiding him dutifully, up until that morning at breakfast. She requested him to stay behind, and he pretended he knew nothing of what she was about to tell him. He’d been waiting for weeks now, watching her debate the proof, watching her ponder the journal. She looked tired and worn from lack of sleep, dark circles were under her eyes. Aegon was avoiding him too, he had a feeling the boy might react badly to the news.

“I need to talk to you about something,” Daenerys begins quietly, “something serious that has come to light recently. A few weeks ago you remember your sister and my nephew flying out to Winterfell correct?”

“Yes,” Jon says, watching Daenerys curiously.

“They found something there…in the crypts of Winterfell, buried within Lyanna Stark’s tomb.”

“I see,” Jon says with a frown, looking perfectly confused and slightly apprehensive.

“Yes,” Daenerys nods, “I found it rather inappropriate myself but Sansa claims the tomb had been bashed in on one side. Grave robbers no doubt…but anyhow…she found this journal,” Daenerys says, pushing the book towards him across the table, “and this…” she adds, holding up an aged piece of paper in her hands for him to see. “This document is a birthright…a birthing document….and it’s yours.”

He goes very still, his dark eyes intent upon hers. He stares at the book and then at her, “Are you saying….”

“I’m saying,” Daenerys says softly, “If you want to know your parentage I will hand this paper over to you…if you would rather be who you are now, then forget this conversation ever happened. It is your choice, and what you decide to do about the information I’m about to give you is your choice as well.”

“I want to see it,” Jon says a little eagerly, a curious light in his eyes.

She hands it over and he unfolds it gently, reading the documents over. “I’m…”

“Yes,” Daenerys nods, “you’re my nephew.”

 

* * *

 

**Jaime**

 

It’s cold and dank in the dungeons of Sunspear. He’s been down there for weeks now, with little to eat and a hard stone floor to sleep on. Apparently they don’t like him here, and his daughter likes him even less. When Prince Doran requested Myrcella’s decision on the matter she refused to say anything and left the hall weeping. That must have been enough for Prince Doran, who imprisoned him in this rotting shit hole of a dungeon, where rats scurried in the corners and the disgusting smell of urine permeated his cell.

               When they finally come to get him, he’s half-dragged before the throne of Sunspear, Doran rising up to step down off the dais, bending low so he might have a decent look at his prisoner. “Jaime Lannister. It has been a long time I think,” he begins slowly, his dark eyes meeting Jaime’s bright green ones, “I see you have been enjoying your lodging.”

“Where is my daughter?” he manages to rasp quietly, his voice rough with disuse.

“Myrcella is safe,” he tells Jaime reassuringly, “and she wants nothing to do with you.”

“I want to see her,” Jaime demands roughly.

Doran narrows his eyes at him, “Unlike your people, we cherish women and children here in Dorne.”

Jaime scoffs, “Tell that to Rhaenys Targaryen.”

“That was a dark point in our history,” Doran nods, motioning for the guards to cut him loose. He orders for two glasses and a bottle of dornish sour, motioning for Jaime to follow him. They sit in his study while he pours them a glass of wine each, and watches Jaime thoughtfully over the rim of his glass. “My brother is dead,” he says quietly, “slain in battle by Stannis Baratheon’s troops.  My good sister and her Targaryen allies will march on Kings Landing soon, but not before dealing with Stannis I imagine.”

Jaime blanches visibly, “My son…”

“Is safe,” Doran assures him,” Lady Olenna Redwyne saw to his safety herself, he and her granddaughter are well protected from what I hear.”

“Cersei?” he says quietly, and cannot meet Doran’s hardened gaze when he asks.

“In the dungeons of the red keep,” Doran informs him, “or so Varys tells me.”

Jaime nods, gratefully gulping down the wine as a servant brings him a tray of food to eat. He forgets all propriety while eating; he’s only had bread and water for weeks.  “Varys the spider…you actually trust him?”

“I do…a little,” Doran smiles faintly, “He is an ally of my nephews.”

“Aegon Targaryen?” Jaime scoffs, “you don’t really believe he’s your nephew do you?”

“Not at first no,” Doran says, watching him eat voraciously, “I thought him a pretender until I saw him ride a dragon.”

“Dragons?” Jaime says as she swallows another sip of wine, “So Daenerys has finally gotten around to taking back her throne has she?”

“Yes,” Doran nods, “you know…we’re not here to discuss politics. You’re here because your daughter has decided you’ve been punished enough.”

“I thought you said she didn’t want to see me,” Jaime says sourly, finishing his wine. He pours himself another and fills his plate once more.

“She doesn’t,” Doran tells him pointedly, “but she doesn’t want her Father to die in a dornish dungeon either. I want to know what you intend to do about Casterly Rock. Your Father is dead, your sister is imprisoned and your children are bastards. You are the only one without a price on his head so far, but you are not welcome in Westeros all the same.”

“ _Damn_ Casterly Rock,” Jaime scowls darkly, “I want nothing of it.”

“You came all this way to check on your daughter…and even if I handed her over to you, what exactly did you intend on doing with her? You have nowhere to go and nothing to your name. If you want your daughter back you will sort out your problems with Casterly Rock.  They cannot refuse you the claim you have to it. They have stripped you of your knighthood and taken away your kingsguard cloak but you are not stripped of your name and title. Your sister on the other hand,” Doran tsks quietly, “she will not get off so easy.”

“Where is Tyrion?” Jaime says after a pause, “He has more claim then I do right now…everything should go to him.”

“So I thought as well,” Doran nods, “which leads me to my next request. If you do not want Casterly Rock then so be it. But I will demand that you find your brother and make him go home…force him to take back Casterly Rock and claim his title. Persuade him to take in your children, keep them safe. Then I might consider giving Myrcella over to you.”

“Daenerys Targaryen _won’t_ …” Jaime trails off as Doran’s sharp voice cuts through his words.

“I don’t _care_ ,” Doran says darkly, “you dug yourself into this mess…you _and_ your family. You will sort out your problems with the Targaryens and take back your home or Myrcella stays here in Dorne where she is safe.”

“You know what my family did to theirs,” Jaime growls, “how am I to reason with her?”

“Oh I don’t know,” Doran smiles faintly at him, “that’s your problem.”

        He is escorted out of Sunspear, but halfway to the palace gates he sees her. Gold hair shimmering in the sunlight as she watches him being escorted out from above, a young boy beside her who could only be Trystane Martell.

“ _Myrcella_!” Jaime calls back to her, “I will get our home back Myrcella…I promise you!”

She only watches him, blurry eyed with tears as Trystane embraces her while she cries. Jaime watches her in despair as he is led away, guilt burning in his heart. He had to fix this, he had to find Tyrion.

 


	35. Chapter Thirty-Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya returns but it's not what they expected, and Jon surprises Sansa.
> 
> A/N: So I wanted to say something because I seem to forget this part myself sometimes. Rhaegar is twenty-four years old. I have to tell myself that a lot, because I keep wanting to relate him to the age of say, Eddard Stark. He grew up with them so I automatically relate his age to theirs. Though when he died he was twenty-four, so he thinks and acts like a twenty-four year old man would, rather than someone who had the wisdom of someone Eddard's age.  
> Also, everybody keeps panicking about Oberyn. Just bare with me my lovely readers, you'll see what I'm planning soon enough. Thank you for the lovely reviews and all the kudos by the way, it really makes my day just reading what you all have to say about the story so far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Sansa**

 

She is awoken in the middle of the night by Jon, who is blurry eyed and half awake. His clothes are wrinkled and his hair is wild as he gazes down at her, holding a lantern, “Sansa, they found Arya.”

               She would have run out of that castle in not but her dressing gown if Jon hadn’t stopped her. She quickly stripped and pulled clothes on, regardless of whether he was standing there or not. He turned away though, to give her privacy while grumbling about her needing to give him warning before she just strips naked like that.

She takes the stone steps to the great hall two at a time, Jon hot on her heels as she rushes at the great wide double doors of the entry way, shoving them open with all her might. He helps her with this task, and together the two of them make their way out into the courtyard where the squadron has gathered. She loses all propriety in this moment; she shoves her way into the crowd, crying out her sister’s name again and again as she searches for her.

“Arya!” she shouts, “Arya where are you?”

“She’s over here Princess,” calls Ser Dalt, waving her over. The crowd parts for her, a circle of glittering torches in the dark as she steps into the circle. There stood a woman around Arya’s height, a hood pulled low over her face. She rushes forward to gather her into her arms, tears running down her cheeks, “Oh _Arya_!”

The girl in her arms looks up at her and sniffles, tears sliding down her cheeks. Sansa is confused at first and then pulls back the girls hood and gasps before her arms drop to her sides, staring blankly at the face of Jeyne Poole.

“Jeyne?” Sansa breaths, “But…where is….where’s _Arya_!?”

“I don’t know,” Jeyne lets out a howl and begins to sob, “I’m so sorry Sansa…I was so scared to tell them the truth!”

“What…” Sansa says blankly as Jon steps up beside her, pulling her against his side before she collapses. She hadn’t even realized she’d been wobbling as she was, disappointment weighed heavy on her shoulders and in her heart.

“They _made_ me,” Jeyne sniffs loudly; “they _made_ me do it Sansa!”

“Who?” Sansa demands, fire in her eyes.

“Littlefinger,” she whimpers, “Petyr Baelish.”

“Why?” Sansa blazes loudly, her eyes drifting over the face of the young woman before her, “Why didn’t you warn my bannermen?”

“I was scared,” she whines loudly and lets out another wail before sobbing.

“Sansa,” Jon says quietly beside her, “she was held captive by Ramsay Bolton. He used to terrorize her…she’s suffered enough, leave her be.”

“Not till I find out why,” Sansa says darkly and turns to look at Jeyne, trying to soften her voice as she speaks. Jeyne looked horrible, bruises and welts were all over her skin. “Tell me why Jeyne.”

“It was how he claimed the north,” she says softly, “Oh _Sansa_ I’m so sorry. They made me pretend to be Arya; Roose Bolton made me do it so he could claim the north.”

“That bastard,” Sansa snarls aloud, rage burning in her eyes. “Lord Dalt…take Lady Poole inside and see that the servants get her fed and bathed and in a comfortable room. Have the Maester check on her; she’ll need seeing too no doubt. Ramsay Bolton was a savage little shit if I ever met one.”

She turns and stalks off in an entirely unladylike manner, Jon right behind her as she goes, “Hey,” he says, trying to catch her attention but she jerks away, storming her way back into the castle, “Sansa _stop_.”

“What in the blazes does Petyr Baelish have to do with all of this?” Sansa says, whirling on him, “why would Baelish do something like that?”

“I don’t know…” Jon says watching her wearily, “Sansa…I’ve never heard you curse before like that…especially not in _public_.”

“I know,” Sansa groans, rubbing her face tiredly, “I’m just…I’m so on edge right now Jon…and I was so excited…so _hopeful_ and when I went out there…it wasn’t even _Arya_!”

“It doesn’t mean you shout obscenities in front of your bannermen,” Jon tells her pointedly, “You need to calm down.”

“Just because your suddenly a Prince doesn’t mean you get to tell me what to do Jon Snow…Targaryen…Stark… _whichever_ ,” Sansa says in frustration, turning away from him and walking off to her bed chambers.

“I may not be your brother anymore,” he says as he matches her stride, “but I still care about you. Your family to me…your my cousin…and I’m not going to leave you be until you _calm down_.”

“Jon just leave me alone!” Sansa rails at him, “I just….I’m so _angry_ ,” she admits, “I’m so angry _all the time_!”

“ _Fine_ ,” he snaps at her, his anger startling her from her own rage, “I’m going to see to Theon…he’s here too if you hadn’t noticed.”

She watches him stalk off in a fit of temper, his fists clenched at his sides. Guilt washes over her, she’d let her temper get the better of her. She’d railed at a young woman who’d been through enough as it was and she’d practically shouted every obscenity in the book before all of her bannermen. She’d acted like a wildling, and she was shamed by it. She would have to make it up to Jeyne in the morning, her once best friend. She needed to sleep; the stress of everything going on was starting to get to her.

* * *

 

**Jon (Rhaegar)**

 

Every time he was around her he learned something new about her. He’d never seen her so angry in the whole time he’s known her, anger and disappointment rippled across her expression. He knew she wasn’t angry with Jeyne or her bannermen, she was angry in general. She was angry because she lost her family, her husband and her siblings. She thought she was finally getting something back, that Arya was alive and home at last only to be disappointed again.  He would have to do something about that because Aegon certainly wasn’t. The boy had no backbone at times, to a point that Jon thought him a bit shy of her. He’s tried again and again with Aegon, every time Aegon’s gotten closer but with little outcome.

               At this point, Aegon would be nearing fifty before he had the nerve to court her. So he would take things into his own hands, while at the same time continuing his encouragement of Aegon courting her. He thought that if Aegon knew he was ok with it, he’d give it a go. The boy was hopeless before her though, stumbling over his words and actions. Right now Aegon was busy with the reach, scouting the country side and making a point with his dragon, allowing himself to be sighted flying over Highgarden and other holdfasts in the reach. So here he is, pondering a solution to the current dilemma. Sansa needed to be distracted, and he had just the thing.

“Hey,” Jon greets her while she sits in the library, writing a letter to Ellaria.

“Hey,” she says quietly, meeting his gaze.

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” they both say simultaneously and then pause, waiting for the other to speak.

“I’m sorry,” Jon begins softly, “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“I was being horrible to you Jon,” Sansa says softly, “you’ve been so good to me and I’ve been so _horrible_ , truly I am sorry.”

“You can make it up to me,” he says mischievously, a sly smile on his lips, “I found something I want to show you.”

“Like what?” she asks, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“It’s a surprise,” he tells her with a smile, “but you have to get up and come with me first.”

“Ok,” Sansa says a little apprehensively, getting up and stepping around the desk she sat at, taking his outstretched hand. His warm fingers curl around hers gently and he leads her through the castle, down a winding corridor near the older part of the hold. “Jon…” Sansa says softly, “where are we _going_? This place is _creepy_.”

“You’ll see,” Jon smiles knowingly at her, his fingers sliding over the solid rock of the wall before them. He finds it easily, an old habit from years and years of use. There is a clicking sound in the wall and he presses both hands on the wall before him and pushes.

“A secret room,” Sansa murmurs, following Jon inside.

               Inside the room is layered in dust, from the ceiling to the floor, he could smell old damp earth and stale air. There was only one window in the room, a colorful stain glass window high above them. He climbs up onto an old table littered with books and paper, shoving them aside so that he can reach the window and push it open. Fresh air comes rushing in, mixing with the stale air already inside. Sansa is exploring already, she’s always had a curious mind.

               Her fingers slide over books and paper, old quills and empty ink bottles.  “What is this place?” she asks softly, her bright blue eyes shifting over the room.

“I don’t know,” Jon admits though that’s a lie, he knows exactly where they are, “I just found it by accident.”

Sansa coughs as dust flies up in the air each time she moves a book or paper, shaking off the ages as she holds them up for inspection, “These books…there old. I used to read these books as a child, there full of old Valerian fairy tales.”

“Well,” Jon chuckles, “someone had a fetish for nursery rhymes, eh?” he grins at her and she smiles a little, shrugging.

“An entire room dedicated to it more like,” Sansa tells him as she eyes the stack of papers left neatly on the center of one desk. “These are musical compositions…some of them aren’t even finished yet.”

She straightens quickly then, her whole body stiffening. “I know where we are….Jon this place must have belonged to…”

“My Father,” Jon nods, “well…that’s a little unsettling. My Father liked to read _fairytales_ and compose _love songs_ in his spare time?”

“Glad to see you never inherited his knack for whimsy,” Sansa says dryly, watching Jon’s face sour a little as he shifts through the books on another table.

“Whimsy isn’t really my thing,” Jon agrees as he walks across the room, snatching up an old piece of fabric that was draped over an oddly shaped piece of furniture. He uses it to try and wipe off some of the books to read their titles better, and in the background he can hear Sansa gasp.

“ _What_ ,” he says looking like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, “Sansa it’s just _old fabric_ it’s not one of your _dresses_ \---…” he trails off as she walks past him, his clever eyes following her movement.

She slides her finger over the gold of the wood; it was nearly as tall as she was. Even after ages of disuse the cords still sounded something like they should have been, one elegant finger sliding over each thread. The echoing sound makes her smile; it was like feeling a rush of fresh air on her face after being trapped in a stuffy room for so long.  She does it again and it makes her smile brighter, and he thinks that taking her here was definitely a good idea.

“Play something,” he urges her, “If the cords are still in good condition that is.”

“I doubt they’d hold,” Sansa shakes her head, “Twenty years is a long time without repair or maintenance.”

“I wonder what else is in here?” Jon thinks aloud, “he must have used it as a study…someplace out of the way where people won’t bother him.”

“We should tell Daenerys about this,” Sansa tells him as she turns towards him, “Daenerys will want to see this. It’s like…it’s a part of her _brother_ ….your Father…and she never knew him. I think she’d want this opportunity to know him a little even if it’s only through the things that he enjoyed in life.”

She grows solemn all of sudden and he can see the tears glittering in her eyes, the struggle to blink them away before he sees them. She turns away, shaking her head as she wipes her eyes. “Sansa…” he says softly, his warm hand resting lightly on her shoulder, “I’m sorry…”

“No,” Sansa shakes her head, “it’s just me….it’s just…no matter what I do something always makes me think of him and I just….I want to _scream_. Most of all…I want to go home; I want to be with Ellaria and her children. I want to just…. _run away_ sometimes.” She whispers the last part softly, guiltily, “does that make me a coward Jon?”

“No,” Jon says gently, pulling her into his arms, “that makes you human. We’re all scared sometimes, and you’ve been braver than any man I knew on the wall the way you handled everything that’s been thrown at you lately.”

She smiles a little, tears trailing down her cheeks. He wipes them away with his thumbs, cupping her face with his hands so that she meets his gaze, “You’re going to cry and hurt sometimes…its normal. The difference is that you still get up, and you still keep going…you’re a fighter and you always have been. We may not have found Arya but it doesn’t mean she’s not out there…we don’t know if any of them are truly dead or not. We just have to keep trying alright? Just you and me…we have to keeping _fighting_.”

               She nods in his grasp, fighting tears as she hiccups a little. She is beautiful even when she cries, trembling quietly in his arms as he shifts his left arm to curl around her waist and his other to cup her right cheek, wiping the tears away. She lays her head on his shoulder and whimpers against his doublet, shaking as the sobs wrack her body. Her hands rest flat against his shoulders, curling into the fabric of his doublet. “I want to go home,” she murmurs quietly, “ _I just want to go home_.”

“Shh,” he murmurs, wiping the tears from her face as he catches her cheek in his hand, tipping her chin up towards him. He wonders if she would let him, he thinks as he stares into her eyes. She was so sad, and part of him was actually starting to feel guilty about Oberyn. The snake was a nuisance most of the time, and he was even worse when he was younger. The problem was that Oberyn had never been made for Sansa; she was made for greater things then a middle aged dornishmen with a roaming eye. Her soft lips quiver as she fights back tears, the hand that curls around her waist rubs her back soothingly. He can’t help himself he thinks, and he wonders if maybe it’s too soon for this. Maybe she would let him and maybe she wouldn’t, as he lowers his head and presses his lips against hers, the lightest of kisses. She tastes like lemons, and her hair smelt of flowers in his grasp. Her lips were warm and supple against his, his grasp on her waist pulling her closer against him. He could kiss her like this forever he thinks, her warm body pressed up against his.

 _Whack_!

Definitely too soon he thinks, his cheek throbbing painfully as the red head in his arms tears away from him, her angry voice ringing in his ears as she glares up furiously at him. 

 _Definitely too soon_.

 


	36. Chapter Thirty-Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys and Sansa have a talk, Ser Dalt has secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Sansa**

She is both angry and confused and mildly ashamed. She was Cersei Lannister all over again, kissing her _brother_. She howls her anger at him, pleased to see the red imprint of her hand on his cheek. “ _Jon_!” She snarls at him, her sorrow all but forgotten and replaced by anger, “What are you _doing_?”

“I just…” he stammers, watching her with wide repentant eyes, “I just thought….”

“You just thought _what_?” She glares at him.

“Well…” he begins quietly, looking sheepish, “you’re my cousin now…and I thought…I mean…I’ve always _liked_ you…and you and I get on so well…I had hoped maybe…and you were so _sad_ …and I just wanted to comfort you.”

“And you thinking _kissing me_ while I’m crying over my dead husband’s going to make me feel better?” she demands with narrowed eyes, looking like a flaming harpy.

“ _No_ ,” he sighs, “I just wanted you to stop crying for a moment, I just wanted to help you… _I’m sorry_ it was stupid of me,” he says apologetically, reaching out towards her.

She steps away from him, glaring daggers, “don’t touch me.”

“ _Sansa_ ,” he groans as she turns away from him, her gown sweeping behind her as she leaves, “Sansa _come back_!” she hears him call but she’s too angry to even listen.

 

               She avoids him for days. It isn’t until Daenerys summons her to her private study that Sansa is forced to deal with it.  She finds the dragon queen seated at her desk, flipping through paperwork. When Sansa enters she motions for her to sit down across from her. “You look tired,” she remarks lightly, concern in her eyes.

“I’m just…busy…that’s all,” Sansa shakes it off, feigning a soft smile.

“Sansa,” Daenerys says as she sets her paperwork down, “did something happen between you and Jon?”

“No,” Sansa replies, not meeting Daenerys’s gaze.

“ _Sansa_ ,” Daenerys says pointedly, expectantly.

“He kissed me,” Sansa blurts out with a look of confusion and horror on her face, “he’s my _brother_ and he kissed me!”

“In my family,” Daenerys begins, “we marry brother to sister by tradition. For me it isn’t anything I find inappropriate because of how I was raised, but I can understand your derision for his advances. Though I have to say, he’s not your brother Sansa he is your cousin.”

“I don’t see him as anything but my brother though,” Sansa says firmly, “I’ve never seen him as anything but my brother.”

“He is crown prince and second in line for the throne,” Daenerys points out, “and I would ask kindly that if you plan to spurn his advances in the future that you refrain from leaving evidence of it.”

“How did you…” Sansa trails off, blinking at Daenerys, “did he _tell_ you?”

“You won’t talk to him,” Daenerys says gently, “and he’s worried.”

“I’m…” Sansa says nervously, wringing her hands as she stares down at her fingers, “I don’t know what to _say_. I love him…he’s my brother and he’s been so good to me. I don’t want to hurt him but I’m not….I’m not _interested_ in him like that.”

“I understand your distress,” Daenerys tells her softly, “You’ve only just recently lost your husband and the men are already circling around you like vultures. I experienced the same problems when my Drogo passed. What I’m going to say next I mean as a kindness…I think it would do you good to get away. I think that perhaps you should return to Dorne. When your Prince Oberyn’s remains are brought back here to Dragonstone I think you should accompany them back to Dorne. I want you to go home…to grieve…to bury your husband and be with your family. I will give the reins of the north over to Jon in your stead, and when you are ready to return I will give them back to you.”

“Daenerys,” Sansa starts to protest but Daenerys holds up a finger to stop her.

“This is my final decision Sansa,” Daenerys says firmly, “You will sail for Dorne when the remains of your husband return. You need time to yourself, you need to get your head back on straight…you can’t do that with men hounding your steps and fighting for your hand every time you step outside the castle walls. I’ve ordered Jon to leave you be, and he’s agreed to it. He’s going to go with Aegon to deal with the Reach. I want you to stay here and rest.”

               She is angry when she leaves, frustrated with Daenerys for demanding her obedience in this matter, despite the fact that she _did_ technically swear fealty to her. She couldn’t turn back for Dorne now even though she desperately wanted too, she needed to hold the north, and she needed to be with her bannermen. She’s also angry with Jon for running to her rather than sorting out his problems. It was _humiliating_ for the queen to know that she’d slapped a crown prince so hard his ears probably rung, especially a crown prince who was the queen’s own nephew.

               Her lady mother would be ashamed by her behavior. Her septa would make her pray in the sept to ask forgiveness for her unladylike behavior. Even worse, she’d behaved like a wildling before all of her bannermen, cursing and yelling like a wildcat. Jeyne avoided her dutifully, and only held polite conversation with her when she had no other choice. She would have to make that up to Jeyne somehow she thinks, and wonders if maybe her former best friend would like to go to Dorne with her. She imagines that Jeyne might like Quentyn, and it would be a treat for her to spend time with the Martells.

               She needed to fix what she has broken so meticulously and rebuild the trust she had with the people around her. She starts with Jeyne, who she finds in the kitchens taking lunch. It wasn’t hard to convince her to go to Dorne with her, and after a while the young woman looked perfectly excited about the prospect of getting away from Dragonstone.  Then she apologized to her bannermen for her behavior to which they readily accepted and dismissed. They’d never really thought much of it if they were being honest; they knew she’d been under heavy duress at the time.  

               All in all the day is productive, and by the end of it she feels a little less disgusted with herself. It doesn’t cool her anger towards Jon though, but a part of her feels guilty for the way she’d yelled at him…for _slapping_ him. It is near evening when Ser Dalt finds her, sitting atop a jagged rock watching the sea sway to and fro from the shoreline.

“Princess,” Ser Dalt bows gracefully, “I must speak with you.”

“Yes Ser Dalt,” Sansa says without taking her eyes off the water, “What is it?”

“You will forgive me,” he begins quietly as she stands beside her, his voice soft and barely above a whisper, “we must keep our voices down and make sure that no one can see or hear what we say right now. There is something I did not tell you about when I returned with your sister Arya from the wall. When we arrived we demanded your sister’s return, and when doing so they told us that they weren’t even sure what to do with her in the first place. They were going to turn her out if we hadn’t shown up when we did. They told me something…peculiar.”

“Like what?” Sansa says, barely listening to him. Her mind was wandering away, back to happier days when she would swim with Oberyn and Ellaria at the Water Gardens.

“They told me that your brother Jon had been slain months ago. They said he was stabbed to death and they were certain of his demise before they left his body for the wolves.”

This gets her attention and she blinks up at him, the memories fading away as she asserts herself into the reality of the conversation, “What?”

“They told me he was dead when they left him, they were certain of it. Something is wrong Princess…I can’t quite put my finger on what that something is, but I can feel it. Something is not right with your brother…are you certain that Jon is who he claims to be?”

“Of course,” Sansa blinks up at him, “I would know my brother’s face anywhere…he is my brother. Who else could he be?”

“There are tales,” he says quietly, “tales of the faceless men of Braavos. They can change their faces at will…look like anyone they want. What I’m saying is that I fear that he is not your brother at all, but an assassin waiting for the right time to strike.”

“What?” Sansa says, alarmed, “you truly believe this Ser Dalt?”

“I do Princess,” he nods, “but I don’t know if I am correct in my assumption. I have warned the queen about him already…and between her and I you are the only other one in Dragonstone who knows the truth now.”

“But why all the secrecy…” Sansa frowns, “Why didn’t you tell me this a long time ago?”

“Because I don’t think he’s after you or the queen,” he says softly, “I think he is after Prince Oberyn.”

“My husband is dead,” Sansa says quietly, “he’s hardly in any danger now.”

“That is the part that I beg your forgiveness for,” he murmurs softly, “I was sworn to secrecy…Queen Daenerys demanded my silence in this matter…we were to let you believe what you will.”

Sansa stiffens visibly, her heart racing, “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying Princess;” he murmurs softly, his voice a quiet whisper, “that Prince Oberyn is _alive_. He is safe in the Riverlands with your Uncle Edmure. We kept it silent because one of my men swore they saw Jon Snow standing over the Prince during the battle…they think he meant to kill him…or assumed he would die and left him there.”

“The whole of Dorne thinks he’s dead Ser Dalt,” Sansa hisses, her temper rising, “I told his brother…”

“I know,” Ser Dalt says repentantly, “I apologize for the deception my Princess but it was necessary to protect Prince Oberyn.”

“How is he?” Sansa demands, on her feet, “How does he fare?”

“He’s in and out of consciousness these past two months. He was near dead when the maester’s reached him. He was greatly plagued by fever and his wound was infected. It was uncertain whether he would live or not, but he is faring stronger now. The maester thinks he shall wake soon.”

“Take me too him,” Sansa demands quietly, “I want to see my husband.”

“It would be unwise,” Ser Dalt warns, “Jon Snow haunts your footsteps…if for even a moment he thought Prince Oberyn was alive he’d do everything in his power to kill him and right now it would be all too easy what with the Prince being unable to defend himself right now. I have every available guard at his door and surrounding Riverrun. He is perfectly safe my Princess, I assure you.”

“I need to speak with Daenerys,” Sansa says flatly, biting back betrayal and anger as she storms her way back up the mountainside on horseback, all the way up to the keep. When she bursts into Daenerys’s study Missandei is rushing in behind her, trying to stop her.

“I’m sorry,” Missandei says frantically, “She would not stop my queen!”

“It’s fine,” Daenerys says, waving Missandei away. When they were alone Daenerys looks at Sansa expectantly, “Have I done something? You look angry…know that I won’t change my mind about---…”

Sansa cuts her off sharply, unwilling to listen to another word, “I _know_.”

Daenerys freezes, and turns slowly to look at her, “Who told you?”

“Ser Dalt,” Sansa says pointedly, “You lied to me…you let me believe he was dead…for two months I grieved and mourned…do you have any idea how devastated Ellaria is over this? How she hasn’t written to me in weeks? How I am fairly certain she blames me for his death? She _hates_ me Daenerys…she doesn’t even have to say it…I _know_ she does. His brother Doran…he’s broken up about it…he doesn’t sleep at night…the last letter I received was from him…and do you know…all of his children, they’ve all been arrested and imprisoned by Doran because they were plotting an attack on Stannis? They might have murdered his wife and child if Doran hadn’t interfered. Do you have _any_ idea what you’ve done?”

“I do,” Daenerys says coolly, “and you will mind your tone with me.” She walks around the desk and stands before her, her vivid purple gaze meeting Sansa’s, “I was protecting your husband. I had thought at first that this imposter was after me. I thought the birthrights were just so he could get close to me…but those documents are _real_ Sansa. Your real brother was my nephew, and unfortunately I know that I shall never meet him now. It didn’t add up though…why get close to me, what did he want with a crown? I knew it might be so that he could get closer to me…but when Ser Dalt told me about what his men saw on the battlefield I knew that I had it wrong. He was after Prince Oberyn…but to what end I don’t know. I don’t why anyone would send an assassin to kill you husband, I don’t see what they would gain out of it.”

“If you knew all this why didn’t you imprison him sooner?” Sansa demands angrily, “Why let him near me…sup with me… _kiss_ me?”

“I’m sorry for that,” Daenerys grimaces, “you have no idea how hard it was not to arrest him after he confessed that to me.”

“I want to see him,” Sansa demands, “I want to see my husband.”

“He’s in fair condition but he is hardly ever conscious and he’s weak…very weak. He’s been in and out for nearly two months now…there is no point visiting him when he won’t even know your there,” Daenerys says gently, “Sansa…you can’t go now. If you go now Jon will suspect something, and he’ll want to go with you the Riverlands. If you wait for Aegon to return I’ll tell Aegon to take you to the Riverlands, drop you off there so you can stay with your Uncle for a while. I’ll tell him you needed time away from Dragonstone. That way Jon can’t come with you, and he won’t question it.”

Sansa bites her lip nervously and paces the room, “What if he dies Daenerys…what if he dies and I’m not with him? I want to be there with him in case he…”

“He _won’t_ ,” Daenerys reassures her, “He’s survived this long hasn’t he? He’ll pull through.”

“Does Aegon know?” Sansa says quietly and feels her heart wretch at the sad look on Daenerys’s face. She nods at the woman’s silent response, “I don’t know what to say to him.”

“Don’t tell him,” Daenerys warns, “Nobody must know…Varys has ears everywhere and if he caught wind of this then the faceless men will find out eventually. I can’t risk it…”

“I agree,” Sansa nods quietly, “I’m just….I need…” she was restless and unable to keep still. All she wanted was to see Oberyn, to hear his heartbeat and see him breathe and know he was alive and this wasn’t some trick.  “I’ll wait for Aegon…but…”

“Let him down easy will you?” Daenerys says softly, “He really likes you.”

“I like him too,” Sansa admits softly, “and if I had never known Oberyn, I might have even loved him someday. I love my husband though, and I need to be with him.”

“I understand,” Dany smiles faintly, “I loved Drogo…and I lost him. When I met Daario…I never thought I’d love anyone ever again, and then I fell in love with him. If Drogo were to come back to me, I would go back to him without a second though and it would pain me to give Daario up, but I love Drogo more.”

“I’m such a fool,” Sansa says bitterly after a pause, dropping down into nearby chair, “I’m such a little _fool_. He’s been acting so strangely….I just thought maybe Jon had changed over the years just as I have. I never expected….never thought for even a _moment_ that someone could be impersonating him. Now….” Sansa trails off, a horrible thought coming to mind, “I don’t even know where my brother is….I don’t know where his body is and I can’t even give him a proper burial.”

“I’m sorry,” Daenerys says softly, “I know this is hard for you.”

“All of them…” Sansa says distantly, “all of them are dead. I’m all that’s left…it’s just me.”

“Not all,” Daenerys reminds her, “Oberyn still lives, and I need you to help me keep it that way.”

 

* * *

 

**Tyrion**

 

He’s as drunk as a skunk, he thinks to himself. He lives off the remaining gold he stashed away in a house he’d bought for his lover. A lover who betrayed him, a lover who never loved him at all. He watches the woman astride him, he can’t even remember her name….Maura…Martha…Maggie? He didn’t care, what did it matter. All that mattered was the glorious sensation between his legs as his cock twitched, a bitter euphoria washing over him when it was over. He would fuck himself into an early grave he thinks, drinking deeply from another goblet of red wine.

“You look like shit,” says a voice he thought he would never hear again.

“Well,” Tyrion says wittily, “I was born with this face and it’s mine…I’ll do what I please with it.”

“Tyrion,” the voice sighs heavily as he sits up, gazing at the worn looking face of his brother.

“Why are you here?” Tyrion says, shooing away the women and pouring his brother a drink.

“I need your help,” Jaime says as he accepts the glass from Tyrion, “Dorne has me by the neck Tyrion…”

“Wouldn’t be the first time they’d held a man by his balls,” Tyrion comments lightly as he sips from his goblet, “Pray tell…what have you done to incur their wraith this time?”

“They have Myrcella,” Jaime says quietly, “and when I went to retrieve her…”

“You mean you actually showed up on their doorstep demanding your bastard child?” Tyrion looks at him with pity, “Jaime…your best option is to _run_. Your daughter is safer in Dorne than anywhere else in the world. In Dorne the natural born children are not shunned, they are cherished and cared for. Myrcella is safe in Sunspear. Leave her there and _run_.”

“I’m not abandoning my daughter Tyrion,” Jaime scowls, “Prince Doran gave me an ultimatum. Either I convince you to take back Casterly Rock or they keep her…they won’t give her back to us.”

“ _Me_?” Tyrion almost chokes on his wine, laughter bubbling out of his mouth, “They want _me_ to take Casterly Rock?”

“Yes,” Jaime says pointedly, snatching the wine goblet out of Tyrion’s hand and tossing it across the room.

“Now,” Tyrion says dryly as he watches his brother, “that was just rude.”

“Tyrion I’m serious,” Jaime scowls at him, “You have to do it.”

“No,” Tyrion says firmly, “I don’t want anything to do with it.”

“You’re the only one who can do it,” Jaime presses, “Daenerys might actually listen to you.”

“As opposed to you, the so called _Kingslayer_ ,” Tyrion says darkly, “I’m not better…so long as my last name is Lannister she’ll be reserving a spike for my head.”

“Doran offered me a deal,” Jaime says firmly, “if you take Casterly Rock you can take my children with you…they’ll have a safe home and a good life with you. If you won’t do it for me, do it for _them_.”

Tyrion stares up at his brother, his thoughtful mismatched eyes meeting his brother’s bright green ones. For a long while he says nothing until finally he tosses aside another wine goblet and grumbles “Oh _bugger_.”

  



	37. Chapter Thirty-Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa dreams about the weirwood tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Bran**

“Try again,” Leaf urges him, “try again.”

“I can’t,” Bran sighs, “I’m tired…and she won’t hear me.”

“She heard you before,” Leaf tells him, “she will hear you again.”

“She isn't as strong as I was,” Bran argues, “her gifts are unpredictable. They only work when they want too, not when we need them too. She only heard me because she was actually _touching_ the tree at the time.”

“I felt her magic echo through the weirwoods,” Leaf tells him thoughtfully, “she has the sight. She is a skin changer like you. She doesn't understand her magic…we must teach her. She must _learn_. You must contact her somehow.”

“She’s in _Dragonstone_ ,” Bran says pointedly.

“There are no weirwoods where she is,” Leaf murmurs as she reaches out through the magic, feeling for Bran Stark’s sister. “We cannot reach her where she is. We must reach out to her through other ways.”

“Like what?” Bran questions, wondering where Leaf was going with this.

“Dreams Bran,” Leaf tells him, “we must reach her through _dreams_.”

 

* * *

 

**Sansa**

 

It is a cold grey morning; her breath turns to steam in the air around her. Aegon is preparing Rhaegal for departure, mildly perturbed that his aunt would demand him to turn around and go right back out into the fray after only just returning. When he learned of the reasons which Sansa needed to get away from Dragonstone, he acquiesced to it silently.

Snow layered the ground beneath her feet, and she shivered in the cold. Aegon was friendly today but quiet, his attempt at instilling a little fear in the people of the reach didn’t go well. Jon hardly spoke to her, though they greeted each other in passing. Sansa was afraid of him now, she wasn’t sure if he was who he claimed to be or if he was one of the faceless men, waiting for the right time to murder her or her husband…maybe both of them. Why else would he still be here? Why hadn’t he just left after he thought the job was done?

“Remember what I told you,” Daenerys warns her quietly as they walk out to where Rhaegal fluttered anxiously, his wings kicking up snow and dirt and spraying it in every direction. Sansa nods quietly and smiles as she approaches Aegon.

“Thank you for taking me at such short notice…I know you must be exhausted,” Sansa tells him earnestly, “I just have to get out of here for a while.”

“It’s not a problem,” Aegon smiles at her wearily, “though you’ll be helping me.”

“Helping you?” Daenerys asks, quirking an eyebrow, “are you teach a wolf to fly now, nephew?”

“A little,” Aegon says sheepishly, “It gets exhausting and my hands cramp up from holding the reins for so long…Sansa is an excellent rider dear aunt…you should see her.”

“No I’m not,” Sansa says with a blush, “I’m a terrible rider he’s just exaggerating out of kindness.”

“I am not,” Aegon grins at her, swinging her up onto Rhaegal’s back before climbing on behind her, “You really are.”

“Just be careful,” Daenerys calls as they take off, looking worriedly after them. Wolves weren’t meant to fly, they were forest creatures. Sansa wasn’t particularly keen on Rhaegal anyways, and if she was to get nervous or scared he’d be able to smell it on her and it might make him nervous. The last thing she needed was to lose a dragon because its rider lost control.

“I hope you uncle wouldn’t mind me staying the night,” Aegon says near her ear, “I truly am exhausted.”

“I think he could find you a spare bed to sleep in,” Sansa agrees, “Mind you…have the castle has been knocked down…it might be cramped.”

“I’ve inadvertently created another Harrenhal,” Aegon says a little guiltily, “I really am sorry about that.”

“It’s not that bad,” Sansa muses aloud, “At least you didn’t melt it to the ground or anything.”

“I’ve embarrassed Daenerys,” Aegon replies, “That’s bad enough I think.”

“They’ll forget about it eventually,” Sansa reassures him, “Just do great things from here on out and they’ll forget all about it.”

“They’re calling me _Aegon the Bungler_ ,” Aegon says pointedly, “Not the conqueror...or the hero…at this point I’d take the _blessed_ if it meant they’d stop calling me a bungler.”

Sansa giggles despite herself at the look of dismay on his face, “They won’t call you that forever…are you sure they’re calling you bungler? I suppose that’s better than _idiot_ or _klutz_.”

“It wasn’t even _my_ fault,” he mutters irritably, “They shot that damn harpoon at me.”

“It’ll go away,” Sansa reassures him, patting his arm, “don’t pay it any heed.”

               When they reach the Riverlands, Sansa is dismayed by the sight of it. It’s covered in snow but she can see the signs of battle. Trees and villages and holdfasts had all burned in the fight. There were several encampments surrounding Riverrun, where her Uncle was surely fighting to keep everything civil between the houses whose homes had been lost.  When they land her Uncle greets them, hobbling painfully with all his weight on a walking stick. His knee had been painfully injured in the explosion and he would never walk right again.

“Uncle,” Sansa greets him, kissing his cheek, “How are you?”

“I’m alright,” he says wearily, eyeing Rhaegal, “Why is _he_ here?”

“Aegon brought me here,” Sansa explains, “He was wondering if he might stay then night…he’s exhausted.”

“He can stay in one of the encampments,” Edmure says, motioning to the surrounding camp sites, “and keep that blasted dragon away from my castle.”

“Yes Milord,” Aegon says with a polite smile and nod, shooing Rhaegal away from the hold before them.

“He’s the crown prince Uncle,” Sansa scolds lightly as they walk through the gates of Riverrun, “you shouldn't speak to him as such.”

“I don’t care who he is,” Edmure tells her pointedly, “He nearly burned down my hold.”

“You know why I’m here,” Sansa says as they enter the great hall, cleared of debris though now there was a gaping hole in one side of the room. They’d blocked it with wood and rock, stacking the broken stone so that the wind might be kept out. “Where is he?”

 

               Edmure takes her high up into one of the towers, the stairs are flanked by dornish guards, as were the corridors leading too it.  Ser Daemon waits at the top, his hand on his blade as they approach. When he sees who it is he settles, and has the decency to look sheepish when Sansa sees him. “Gone to fetch my husband’s remains he claims…will be back in a month’s time he says….” Sansa tells him pointedly.

“I apologize for the deception my Princess,” he tells her, bowing gracefully, “It was a lie done only to protect my Prince.”

“Let me see him,” Sansa says as Ser Daemon steps aside, “Is he awake?”

“No,” Daemon shakes his head, “No change…the same patterns. The maester is in there with him now.”

Inside the tower it’s warm to the point of stifling, and an old worn maester sits in the corner, his gaze meeting hers as she enters, “I wondered when you would be here Princess.”

“ _Oberyn_ ,” Sansa murmurs softly, his name like a mantra on her lips as she walks over to his bedside. He is paler than she’s ever seen him, and so thin he looked as if a good wind would snap him in half.

“We've fed him broth and water,” the maester explains, “two months we’ve managed him with that…but he needs proper food. When he wakes it’s not for long…he rambles about the battle and won’t eat anything…”

 “I need to tell Ellaria,” she says softly, “I need to tell Doran…the whole of Dorne is in outrage….they’re rising up in arms over his death.”

“We mustn't yet tell them,” the maester warns gently, “for his safety we must let them all think he is dead.”

Sansa nods, hoping Ellaria will forgive her for this deception, “Leave me with him…you must be exhausted…get some rest…I’ll sit with him. If he wakes I will call for you.”

The maester nods and leaves, looking both relieved and a little hesitant about going. She sits with Oberyn for hours it seems, holding his warm hand in hers and wiping his brow when sweat beads on his skin. They told her he still had remnants of fever upon him, and when he finally does wake she has never been happier to see his dark piercing eyes meet hers.

“Oberyn,” Sansa says gently, her heart racing, “My love….”

“You…” he says and shifts uncomfortably in the bed, “He’s here…I must…”

“Who’s here my love?” Sansa says gently, kissing his knuckles lightly, “My love you must rest….everything is alright, your safe.”

“No,” he says more firmly, surprising her, “No…” his hand tightens on hers almost painfully and she gasps, Ser Daemon bursting into the room at the sound of her cry.

“No,” Oberyn says more forcefully, “I must…he’s….here… _Rhaegar_!”

“The fever is on him,” Daemon says solemnly, “I’ll send for the maester.”

“Rhaegar,” Sansa frowns, “My love….Rhaegar isn’t here…he’s dead…your safe…you must lie back… _please_.” For someone so frail he was awfully strong she thinks, her elegant hands trying to gently push him back down onto the bed. He wants to sit up but she won’t allow it, she feared he’d hurt himself. His bandage is black with blood when the maester arrives, and Sansa steps aside so he can change Oberyn’s dressings. By then Oberyn has passed out again, and the maester looks at her thoughtfully.

“You know,” he says softly, “that’s the longest I’ve ever seen him awake. The most alert I’ve seen in a long while…he was very adamant. What was he on about?”

“Rhaegar Targaryen,” Sansa frowns, “It was bizarre…he thought Rhaegar was here.”

“Rhaegar?” Daemon says with a look of confusion on his face, “Why would he be dreaming about Rhaegar Targaryen?”

“I haven’t any idea,” Sansa says, blinking down at her sleeping husband, “your guess is as good as mine.”

               That night she dreams, her head resting on the bed and her hand still clasped in Oberyn’s.  She dreams about Winterfell, and she dreams she is standing under the weirwood tree once more.

_Oberyn is there with her and he’s singing softly, his lilting voice always could carry a tune. He sang the Rains of Castamere, a song that echoed volumes in the ruins of Winterfell._

_“Why are you singing that my love?” she heard herself say, stepping up beside him._

_“Because the words ring true,” he replies with his back to her as he gazes up at the weirwood._

_“My love,” Sansa presses, “why won’t you wake?”_

_“I wake when I wake,” Oberyn tells her, “I wake when the gods deem me ready too.”_

_“I need you here Oberyn,” Sansa pleas softly, “I need you…I love you Oberyn please…please wake up.”_

_There is a horrible crunching noise and Sansa screams when he turns to face her, blood pouring from his eyes as his head crumbles away. He drops to his knees and falls forward, right at her feet. The wind howls in the branches of the weirwood and she can hear that same voice again, that same voice calling her name over and over again._

_“Leave me alone!” she weeps, horror and sorrow weighing her down to her knees. Her beloved is dead, and his blood soaks the earth at the feet of the weirwood. “Please come back to me…please don’t leave me Oberyn…please…please..”_

_“Mother?” says a soft voice, innocent and sweet._

_Sansa turns; a silver haired boy with indigo eyes looks at her curiously. The world has changed and Winterfell is rebuilt. Her beloved is gone._

_“Who…” Sansa trails off, her eyes drifting to a tall boy walking up behind the child, a boy with Oberyn’s eyes._

_“There you are,” he laughs, “you wandered away.”_

_“I was looking for Mother,” the child explains, “she was crying.”_

_“Mother,” says the elder child, “are you alright?”_

_“I am,” Sansa sniffs as she stands, wiping away her tears, “Where….am I?”_

_“In Winterfell of course,” the elder boy laughs, “where else would you be?”_

_“Gyan,” calls an older man with a bushy black beard and worn looking eyes, “Call that boy back over here…he’s not done with his training.”_

_“It seems we’ve gotten into trouble,” Gyan says mischievously, grinning down at the little boy, “Come my brother…we must meet with the master at arms before he becomes cross with us.”_

_The scene shifts and the two boys are gone. Images flash before her eyes, images from the past and the present and the future. She sees her Father marrying her mother, she sees Brandon the Builder laying stone for Winterfell, and she sees a tall man with silver hair kissing a delicate young woman with dark hair under the weirwood tree._

_Sansa…._

_She hears that voice again, rough and dark calling to her._

_Look for me…._

_It whispers, and she shivers in the cold that surrounds her, her heart racing. The world has gone dark and cold, and Winterfell sits in ice and ruins once more._

_Beneath the tree…_

She jerks awake, the morning sunlight pouring through the windows. Oberyn is asleep, his breathing steady. She pries her hand free of his and stands, stretching out her aching limbs. She has never had nightmares like that before, and the words that echoed in her mind did not fade even as the day went on. She would not soon forget the image of the weirwood tree, looming in the distance as the voice called out to her on the wind that shook its branches.

               She meets her Uncle in the great hall to break her fast before returning to her place by Oberyn’s side. Aegon had left at sun up, he’d gone to tell her he was leaving but her Uncle said she was resting and needed to be left alone.  Edmure was a good liar she thinks, and she was grateful for his hospitality when it came to Oberyn.

Her beloved sleeps soundly all day, and by late afternoon Sansa goes out into the godswood for fresh air. She sits under the weirwood, staring blankly at nothing as her mind drifts in thought. Her Uncles voice cuts through her thoughts and she looks up at him as he approaches. He sits down beside her under the tree, gazing out over the land before them. “They said you were out here.”

“I was just getting some fresh air,” Sansa explains quietly.

“You were having nightmares last night,” Edmure says softly, “you even managed to wake Oberyn with them…at least for a moment or two…he kept grabbing at your hand during the night.”

“I’m sorry,” Sansa sighs, “I must be tired…I just had the most bizarre dream about Winterfell.”

Edmure nods thoughtfully, “How long do you plan to stay here with us?”

“As long as I am needed,” Sansa admits, “I don’t want to leave him.”

“You must though,” Edmure tells her, “A week tops and then you must go back to Dragonstone. If that impostor…whoever he is…figures out what’s going on…”

“You see,” Sansa says with a frown, “That’s what is bothering me. Why did he stick around? Why is he still here? If he thought Oberyn was dead…then why stay? He must have another target in mind.”

“Daenerys is planning to arrest him,” Edmure tells her quietly, “she wanted to wait until you were safe here before she did it.”

“I need to be there,” Sansa says, “I need to talk to him…to figure out what’s going on.”

“Daenerys wants you here…which is why I said a _week_ ,” Edmure smiles faintly at her, “you don’t need to be there for that. He won’t be going anywhere…she won’t kill him. She’ll demand answers of course, and will want to know who his other targets are.”

“The faceless men,” Sansa murmurs thoughtfully, “I don’t understand why anyone would send an assassin to kill my husband.”

“No telling,” he shrugs lightly, “but I imagine if anyone could wring it out of that impostor it will be the dragon queen.”

                The days roll by and Oberyn doesn't wake, Sansa is dutiful by him, she feeds him when he will allow it and washes him clean with a sponge and a basin of water. She helps the maester change his bandages and strip him so they can put clean clothes on him. Every day the weight is heavier on her shoulders, every day she feels a little guiltier about keeping this from Ellaria.

“You realize when my lover finds out that I've kept this from her she’ll wring my neck,” Sansa muses aloud to the maester.

“I imagine she’ll be cross,” he agrees with a nod, “but she’ll forgive you if it means keeping her lover safe.”

“She’ll get over it,” Oberyn’s voice croaks, rough with disuse. Sansa drops the basin in her hands, water splashing all over the floor at her feet. The maester freezes mid-turn as he wraps the bandages over Oberyn’s shoulder and meets the Princes gaze.

“Well,” the maester says, “it’s about time you woke up.”

 

 


	38. Chapter Thirty-Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Oberyn catch up. Sansa is reunited with two lost family members.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Sansa**

She updated him on everything that happened while he was gone over breakfast, and when she was finished he looked solemn and serious, the lines of his face tightening. “I do not like it,” he admits as he sets aside his breakfast, “I don’t remember much from the field….I remember,” he trails off, frowning in thought, “I remember he stood over me….”

“That part is real,” Sansa nods, “One of the soldiers claimed they saw him standing over you.”

“He said to me,” Oberyn frowns, “he said….”

“What did he say?” Ser Daemon presses as he steps into the room, “Forgive me my prince…but it is necessary we discover this faceless man’s motives.”

“He said…he spoke of Elia,” he frowns, “and I could have _sworn_ ….”

“You kept saying Rhaegar’s name in your sleep,” Sansa says softly, “Why did you keep talking about Rhaegar? Did you dream of him?”

“No,” Oberyn frowns, shaking his head, “I don’t remember any of my dreams…but I do remember him talking about Elia. He spoke as if he knew him…and then I thought…I thought just for a moment that maybe _he_ was Rhaegar…”

“My love,” Sansa says gently, taking his hand in his and kissing his knuckles, “Rhaegar Targaryen has been dead near twenty years now. This is some faceless man playing games with your mind, that’s all.”

“I want to speak with him,” Oberyn says with frown, “I will find the truth of his words.”

Sansa nods, “When you are strong enough we will go back together.”

“Tell me about him,” Oberyn says, “Tell me about what you know of Jon and tell me about Jon as he is now.”

“Jon was….he was rough around the edges,” Sansa admits softly, “He never cared much for propriety…he didn’t care about fancy clothes…I know he wanted to be a true lordling…he wanted to be a trueborn son of my Father….but he never really cared about the rules much….I must admit that I never knew much of him…I always called him my half-brother and I never really tried to get to know him when we got older.”

“Tell me about him when you were younger then,” Oberyn says, “What was he like?”

“He was the only one who put up with my eccentricities,” Sansa says, a ghost of a smile on her lips, “not Robb….Robb would tell me to go to Mother or Father…but Jon would carry me back to the hold when I scrapped my knee and cried over it…he…sometimes he was more of a brother to me than Robb was…and I took him for granted.”

“What is different about him now?” Oberyn presses, looking for some discrepancy between the two.

“He plays the high harp,” Sansa says, “I don’t think I’ve ever been able to wrap my mind around that. He plays it so _well_ ….it’s remarkable. It’s like he’s…” Sansa trails off, her gaze meeting Oberyn’s, “It’s impossible Oberyn….there’s no way that Jon is Rhaegar. That’s _impossible_.”

 “You said he just happened to find a secret room in Dragonstone that not even Stannis ever found,” Oberyn’s says pointedly, “he plays the high harp and so did Rhaegar. He has manners that of a _Prince_ more than a bastard boy who spent time on the wall.”

“It’s _impossible_ Oberyn,” Sansa says pointedly, “He’s not Jon…that much we know but he _can’t_ be Rhaegar. This is just some faceless man playing mind games.”

Oberyn falls silent, seeing the determination on her face. He could see he was upsetting her, and she has already been through enough.  “Alright,” he says softly, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, “alright my love.”

               She is uneasy later that afternoon as she sits under the cold winter sun trying to get warm. She people watches, they surround her as they go about their daily chores. Food is being cooked over great open fires, tents are being swept out and cleaned, women gather at the well to wash clothes, the guards pace to and fro through the crowd, keeping the peace.

               She decides to go for a walk, having never really explored Riverrun before. She walks the perimeter, noting the damage to the hold while searching for flowers buried beneath the snow. She heard the guards shouting in the distance, some of them laughing and joking in dornish. Sansa glances up, pulling the hood back of her cloak to see better. Walking towards the sound she can see something bounding back and forth near the tree line, as white as winter snow with eyes as red as blood. “No,” Sansa breaths in shock, all but running towards the sight, “Ghost!” she shouts, startling the guards as she runs right past them, “ _Ghost_!”

“Princess!” One of the guards shouts, chasing after her, “Princess _stop_! Those are _direwolves_!”

“Ghost!” Sansa calls again, ignoring the guard. Ghost freezes midstride, his ears twitching in the air as he turns his gaze in her direction. Immediately he bounds towards her with another wolf she recognized as Nymeria bursting out from the tree line right behind him.

“ _Nymeria_!” Sansa breaths, surprised and overjoyed all at once.  She drops to her knees before Ghost who all but towers over her even on her knees. He was nearly as big as a horse it seemed, burying her gloves hands in his soft white fur. “Oh Ghost… _Nymeria_ …” she says, tears glistening in her eyes as she rubs the soft fur over Nymeria’s head as well, Nymeria’s golden gaze on her face.

“Princess,” the soldier behind her freezes, Ghost’s growl stopping him in his tracks. “Princess those are _direwolves_.”

“It’s alright,” Sansa smiles, shushing Ghost when he bares his teeth at the guard behind her, “these are my family’s direwolves. Ghost belonged to my brother Jon and Nymeria belonged to my sister Arya.”

               She takes them back with her to the hold, and feed them raw meat and bowls of clean water. Her uncle is displeased with the development, muttering about how dangerous animals tended to follow her.

“First dragons,” Edmure grumbles irritably as he regards the two direwolves with distaste, “now direwolves. Next you’ll be bringing home a giant or one of the children of the forest with you.”

“If I see any giant’s I’ll be sure to introduce you,” Sansa tease him lightly, “dear uncle I promise you they’ll bring you no harm. They’re loyal and protective of my family.”

“Just keep them out of the great hall,” Edmure says wearily, watching Ghost and Nymeria trail along behind Sansa as she heads for the tower where Oberyn is resting.

 

“I’ve found some long lost family members,” Sansa announces as Ghost and Nymeria trail in behind her. Oberyn sits up and blinks at the sight, looking slightly alarmed.

“Are those…” he trails off, watching Ghost and Nymeria make themselves at home near the hearth.

“Yep,” Sansa smiles at him, “Allow me to introduce to you Ghost and Nymeria…the direwolves of my brother Jon and my sister Arya.”

“Interesting,” Oberyn says, watching the wolves, “it seems your brother is reaching out you even beyond the grave.”

“Yes,” Sansa agrees quietly, “Jon was always thoughtful like that.”

“I’m sorry about your brother,” Oberyn admits, catching her hand in his as she sits on the edge of his bed, “I know you loved him.”

“I do,” Sansa nods, “and for a time I had my moment in the sun where I thought someone in my family had truly survived. It was just a dream I suppose,” Sansa sighs heavily, “and I will just have to live with it.”

“At least you have them,” Oberyn muses aloud, “though I do not think Ellaria will be so welcoming of them. She isn’t keen on dogs _or_ wolves.”

“She’ll get used to them,” Sansa laughs a little, “they’re completely harmless until someone threatens me.”

“That wolf is nearly as big as a horse,” Oberyn observes as he gazes at Ghost.

“Yes,” Sansa agrees, “he’s _huge_.”

“So,” he sighs, stretching as much as he could without making his shoulder ache any more than it already did, “we have a lot to work on.”

“Yes,” Sansa admits with a nod, “there’s a lot to do. I was supposed to be handling the reach but Daenerys assigned Aegon too it…but I should be out there. Margarey would be easier to deal with if I was there.”

“You’re just anxious to see your beautiful would be lover,” Oberyn says playfully, “she _is_ very beautiful.”

“Beautiful she may be,” Sansa muses, “but completely untrustworthy, and speaking of which… _Willas_.”

“You know about that then?” he grins as he gazes towards the hearth wistfully, “He was a good lover.”

“Tell me about it,” Sansa grins at him playfully, pressing her lips to his, “I’ve missed the sound of your voice.”

“ _Well_ ,” he grins wickedly at her, “I came to visit him on the way to Kings Landing with Ellaria….”

* * *

 

**Bran**

 

“I’ve never met a more stubborn child of man since I walked the lands of Westeros,” Leaf says sourly as Bran leans back against the wall behind him with a sigh.

“It’s hopeless,” Bran says, “I did what I could.”

“She heard you,” Leaf agrees, “but she did not heed you.”

“What was that in her dreams?” Bran asks softly, “I didn’t put that man in her mind.”

“That was _her_ ,” Leaf tells him softly, “she was connected to him.”

“You mean she _pulled him_ into her dream?” Bran says, bewildered.

“Jojen could do that,” Meera says softly, “he did it once…when I was sick.”

“We must not focus on what is,” Leaf cuts into their conversation, “we must focus on what is coming. She must be reached…the greenseer demands it. He has foreseen a great darkness on the land, and _she_ is at its heart.”

“What kind of darkness,” Bran presses, “you never explain.”

“I don’t question his visions,” Leaf tells him, “but he sees a darkness descending upon the land like the spread of dragon wings, and she will be caught up in the maw of its teeth.”

“Meera,” Bran says when Leaf leaves, “Meera we have to reach her.”

“How?” Meera says, “I couldn’t make the trek back to the wall alone Bran.”

“No,” Bran shakes his head, “I wouldn’t ask you to go alone to find her.”

“Then how?” Meera says, dropping down onto the floor beside him, “She won’t hear you.”

“Sansa is stubborn,” Bran agrees, “and if she won’t hear us…then we need to be _louder_.”

“What did you have in mind?” Meera asks, looking at Bran expectantly.

“We need Leaf,” Bran says, “go and find her. I need to speak to the greenseer to see if it’s even possible.”

“Alright,” Meera nods and leaves, fumbling her way through the old stone passages to find Leaf. Bran has Hodor carry him to the greenseer, and he hopes against all hope that maybe his idea will work.

 

* * *

 

**Sansa**

“You know I’m starting to think I’ve been missing out,” Sansa muses aloud, “you’ve been holding out on me.”

“I didn’t want to frighten you away,” Oberyn admits, “starting slow was the best option with you.”

Sansa smiles faintly, leaning her head on his shoulder as his good arm curls around her shoulders, “Well I’m certainly curious now.”

He grins wickedly, “When I am better I will sate that curiosity I think.”

“ _Only_ when your better,” Sansa says pointedly, “I don’t want you falling ill again.”

“Yes _yes,_ ” he leans his head back against the back board grinning, “and so the nagging begins.”

“Well someone has to do it;” Sansa teases lightly, “Ellaria would never forgive me if I let you get sick again.”

 

               They spend the rest of the week that way, and by the time the day of departure rolls around Sansa is wary about letting Oberyn travel. The maester’s assured her he was out of danger and his injury is healing nicely, though there will be a scar.  Sansa won’t hear of leaving him on the road while she returned with Aegon so she took the long way around while her beloved rode in the back of a cart.

“You’re cold,” Oberyn observes from the cart, swaying with the litter as he looked at her. She rode behind the cart on horseback, and she shrugs in response.

“I’m used to it,” Sansa shrugs, “winter is in my blood.”

“And sand is in mine but it keeps me no warmer,” Oberyn observes, “You need a heavier cloak.”

“I’ll be fine,” Sansa says, touched by his concern despite his own current condition, “I need you to worry about yourself right now. I’m not the one with a big hole in my shoulder.”

“Your arm,” he says, tilting his head to one side, “the scars...”

Sansa pulls her sleeve down to cover them, looking away from his gaze, “It’s nothing.”

“What happened?” he asks, his dark eyes intent on her face.

“I was burned in the explosion,” Sansa admits, avoiding his gaze dutifully, “when the dragon fire hit the castle wall.”

“I told you that boy had no business on a dragon,” Oberyn scowls darkly, grunting as he shifts his position in the cart.

“They’re calling him Aegon the Bungler,” Sansa says softly, “I feel so bad for him…it wasn’t even his fault. They shot a harpoon at Rhaegal; he was just trying to save his dragon.”

“Whether it was his fault or not he nearly got me killed and you seriously injured,” Oberyn says, his face stern and thoughtful. Finally he sighs and meets her gaze, looking regretful, “I should have never taken you out to the Riverlands with me.”

“I needed to be there,” Sansa says softly, “and none of us could have known what Stannis was planning.”

“Still,” he says softly, “I endangered your life…I won’t let that happen again.”

“Oberyn,” Sansa says with a sigh, “You and Aegon both…..with Daenerys on top of it all I swear, the three of you treat me like I’m made of porcelain.”

He laughs, leaning back against the blankets stacked up underneath him, “my flower you are hardly made of porcelain. I would just prefer you not stand in the face of dragon fire.”

“I have fire in my hair,” Sansa muses aloud, “you would think it would give me a bit of fire resistance like the Targaryens…but alas, no.”

They go on for a while longer, and Sansa’s mind drifts over the events at the Battle of Riverrun. Then suddenly, her eyes glaze over and she is distant, and Oberyn notes the change in her expression. “What is it?”

“Dragons,” Sansa breaths, “dragons…. _Rhaegal_ ,” she says adamantly as if she’s just realized something, “his name is _Rhaegal_.”

“Yes,” Oberyn says with a quirk of thick dark eyebrow, “what of it?”

“Oberyn do you remember that dream I told you of? The one where I dreamt that a great green dragon carried a red snake away on the wind?” Sansa asks, meeting his dark eyes.

“Yes…” he frowns, pondering the meaning, “The red snake was me…no?”

“Yes,” Sansa frowns, “and the great green dragon looked exactly like Rhaegal.”

“The dragon nearly killed me,” he agrees, “but he did not carry me off into the wind.”

“No,” Sansa shakes her head, “what if that dragon was only a symbol in my dream like the snake was for you…what if that dragon represented something _else_.”

“Like what?” Oberyn says, struggling to sit up so he could see her better.

Sansa frowns as she looks at him, worry etched in her expression, “Daenerys named that dragon after Rhaegar Targaryen.”

 


	39. Chapter Thirty-Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys meets Rhaegar for the first time, and Sansa confronts Rhaegar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Daenerys**

 

From the moment they return it’s a fight. Oberyn despite his hindrances argued fiercely with Daenerys for near two hours. Sansa was with him, and she too voiced an opinion. If this man was truly her brother then he was sitting in the dank and dark dungeons of Dragonstone, chained to a wall. The brother she has never known, the brother who destroyed her family for love.  It was utter madness to even consider it but the evidence is overwhelming. She wants to know how he did it, she wants to know _why_. Why, it was a word that haunted her dreams while Viserys haunted her nightmares, screaming in agony as he cries _betrayer_. Why did he do this to us? Why did he betray their family? Why did he abandon his wife and child? Why did he do it? Why…why… _why_!

As she descends the dark steps, her blue and white gown sweeping across the slippery stones beneath her feet, she feels as if she is descending into darkness, to where the shadows creep along the walls and her brother sits in irons, punished by the Stranger himself.

“Why?” her voice echoes in the dark chamber, violet eyes meeting eyes so dark they are almost black. The face of Jon Snow stirs and turns up towards her, he looks worn and hungry.

“What?” he asks, his voice rough with disuse. He’d been sitting in this dungeon for weeks now.

“ _Why_?” she demands in a voice that brooks no argument. She wants answers, she wants the _truth_.

“And again,” he says pointedly, “I ask you…why _what_?”

“Rhaegar,” she says and this gets his attention, shock and surprise rippling across his features, “Tell me why.”

“I don’t know what you’re…” he trails off, seeing the resilience in her expression and the knowledge in her eyes. Somehow she knows, somehow she’s discovered him. He hasn’t the heart to argue with her, his sister deserves honesty. “You must have many questions sister.”

“I do,” Dany says as she steps forward, kneeling before her brother, “I want to know why you did it…why you destroyed our family…endangered the kingdom…abandoned your wife and her children….why you _ruined_ the Targaryen family.”

“For love,” he answers simply, meeting her gaze, “I did it for love.”

“Love has a way of destroying everything,” Dany says quietly, “I would know from experience. I tried to save the man I love, and out of love I did…and then I had to kill him myself because the life he had afterwards would never have made him happy.”

“No one ever said love would be easy,” Rhaegar says quietly, staring at the floor.

“No,” Dany agrees, “but it has consequences. Because of you…Sansa’s grandsire and Uncle died, she lost her Aunt Lyanna to childbirth…birthing _your_ son…Jon. You gave the Lannisters the edge they needed to take Kings Landing…because of you hundreds are dead, houses are destroyed and the Lannisters reigned supreme. Until now…” Dany points out, “I have finally got the upper hand…and our family will finally go home. Do you even realize what you did to Viserys? The madness that stole his whole life, the desire to take back his home…the way he lost everything including our mother who died birthing me? He even had to give me up, the very last thing he had of his supposed reign just to get an army that he never even got….instead he was killed by my husband, slain because Viserys overstepped and my husband wouldn’t tolerate it. Dothraki are not merciful.”

“I know I caused great pain,” Rhaegar says softly, “I had to do it Dany...I loved her. I never meant to cause the kind of devastation I did…I couldn’t have predicted that. I loved Lyanna…she loved me…and she believed in me. She believed in my dreams.”

“That doesn’t excuse what you did Rhaegar,” Dany says firmly, “it doesn’t change the lives you’ve destroyed forever. Do you know…Prince Oberyn spent most of his life swimming in a vengeance so deep it could have flooded the whole of Westeros? He finally got that vengeance….but believe me, it was fight to keep him from coming down here and killing you himself. The only reason he stayed his hand was the fact that you’re currently occupying Sansa’s brother’s body. Which leads me to my next question, _how_?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, “I just woke up in his body.”

“Where is Jon Snow?” Dany demands, staring him down, “then tell me where Sansa’s brother is.”

“I don’t know,” Rhaegar repeats firmly, meeting her gaze, “Sister I truly don’t know. He is my son by the way, and that makes him her _cousin_.”

 

* * *

 

**Sansa**

 

When Daenerys returns, she permits Sansa to see him. She looks worn and exhausted, distress in her eyes.  She sweeps past Sansa without another word, and Sansa watches her go before descending down into the dungeons. Oberyn was not permitted to go and Sansa threatened to tie him to his bed if he didn’t stay put. His arm wouldn’t heal properly if he didn’t rest it. There were a million things she wanted to ask him, but a million things she wanted to say. Anger and confusion and sorrow all roll together like waves in a storm.

               Standing before him, it takes him a few moments to realize she’s there. He opens his mouth to speak but Sansa is faster, his cheek stinging sharply as her hand sweeps across it fiercely. A second one for the other cheek as well, Sansa thinks to herself. “ _That_ was for Lyanna….and _that_ was for Elia and her children.”

“So you know,” he says quietly, thoughtfully, “interesting. How do you know?”

“Well aside from you just practically admitting it to me,” Sansa says coldly, “I’m an _idiot_. I should have noticed it…Jon never played an instrument…Jon hated frilly _anything_ …and you… _you_ play like you were born with a harp in your hands and you prance around in fancy doublets like a girl child wearing her first ball gown. I should have noticed…but I didn’t…I didn’t and I’m such a silly little fool. I wrote it off as a passing of time…so Jon changed…so have I…but no… _no_ …” Sansa laughs and it’s high and a little hysterical. She thinks she’s starting to go a little mad now, “How dare you…how _could_ you….where is Jon? Where is my brother?”

He stares at her thoughtfully, watching her emotions war within her, “I don’t know.”

“ _Liar_!” Sansa snaps, “Where is my brother!”

“I honestly,” he says calmly, hoping his gentle voice will sooth her anger, “do not know my lady. I woke in my son’s body and he was nowhere to be found.”

“What do you mean?” Sansa says softly, desperately as she drops to her knees before him, “where is he Rhaegar? Where did he go?”

“I don’t know,” he tells her gently, “I swear to you my lady, I don't know where he is.”

“How did you do this?” Sansa asks, gesturing to his body, “how did you take his body?”

“Of that I am not certain,” he begins thoughtfully, “though I recall once reading of the red priests…they can accomplish great feats of magic. I believe one of them brought me back...when I woke up I was in a cave with several men…one of them I think was a red priest.”

“Why did you try to kill my husband?” Sansa asks even quieter now, meeting his gaze, “why did you do that?”

“You don’t belong with him,” he says just as softly, “you are meant for a greater purpose.”

“I belong with Oberyn,” Sansa says firmly, “if there is one thing in this world I am sure of, it is that I was born to love my husband, to be with my husband.”

“Love is one thing…but love cannot fight destiny, you have a greater purpose, so do I,” Rhaegar tells her pointedly, “I loved your aunt but we both knew I had a greater purpose. She was the instrument of that purpose.”

“Are you even hearing yourself?” Sansa says, incredulously, “Do you even understand what you’ve done? This isn’t a _song_ Rhaegar…it’s not a story. The songs and the stories are lies…and you are that lie. You were the noble prince…the gallant warrior…you were every legend and every story come to life. Then just like every story and every song that is made up of lies…you were a liar too. You are not some gallant prince and this isn’t a fairytale. This is real life…and there are no happy endings, and there are no true loves…nobody’s ever coming to rescue me from any tower because they’d be too busy with other things. I was like you once…I believed in that lie…I wanted to believe it. I read every book and every story and song there was….and I loved it Rhaegar; I wanted to believe it _so_ much. I went out into the world believing that the Prince I was betrothed to was the handsome prince from the stories. You know what I got for that trust…that belief Rhaegar? I was stripped naked before the entire court and held at crossbow point while I was beaten bloody for my brother Robb’s victories in the battlefield. I was terrorized and threatened for three years….three years that miserable Joffrey Baratheon threatened to rape me…to kill me….he made me stare at my father’s rotting head on a spike….to stare at my septa’s head....that ….that Rhaegar is the bitter reality of the world we live in. It’s not a song…and when you ran off like that…”

“You loved me when you thought I was Jon,” he tells her, “and you and I are very much alike, you can see that I know you can. Why is it any different now? You know who I am.”

“Yes,” Sansa nods, “I know who you are now…and that’s why I can never trust you. You live in a fantasy world where you think running off with your true love is going to end happily! You destroyed your family, you destroyed _my_ family!”

“Sansa,” he says as he leans towards her, “what if I told you that there is one story, one story that is entirely true.”

“I would say you were mad,” Sansa frowns at him, but still listens.

“I am the prince that was promised,” He tells her, “and I must bring lightbringer into this world. Jon was that lightbringer…but he’s dead now…I think I was brought back to resolve that.”

“You’re mad,” Sansa whispers, tears glittering in her eyes, “you’re completely mad.”

“You are the last Stark…yours is the winter blood. Ice and Fire…that’s what you and I are Sansa,” he says as she walks away, leaving him in the dark.  He continues because he knows she can hear him, “Aren’t you going to ask me why I kissed you?”

“Shut up,” Sansa says venomously, whirling on him, “don’t you ever talk about that to me. You’re completely mad…and you lied to me…you made me believe my brother was still alive. You lied to me! You gave me hope and then you took it from me!”

“In my family,” he says to her, “Brothers are often wedded to sisters. I realize that might be strange for you, but it would have been for the best I assure you. We have to save the _world_ Sansa…you and me…Ice and Fire.”

“No,” Sansa shakes her head, “you’re mad. You’re not some prince that was promised…whatever that means…you’re not a prince at all. You aren’t _worthy_ of that title.”

“Sansa…” he says as she leaves, and then louder, “SANSA!” The doors to the dungeon slam shut and he stares into the darkness, a smile on his lips.


	40. Chapter Forty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa makes decisions of her own and Aegon gets pulled along for the ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

  **Sansa**

               The citadel is cathedral like, great wide ceilings and masterfully painted glass windows, shimmering a multitude of colors down upon its occupants like a rainbow after the storm.  She kneels before the altar, whispering desperate words of prayer to the seven faces of the gods in the silence of the citadel. She lights a candle for each person she prays for, _Eddard Stark…Catelyn Stark….Robb Stark….Arya Stark…Bran Stark…Rickon Stark…Ser Rodrik…Jory…._

“Jon…” Sansa trails off at first as she lights the candle before adding, “Stark.” The she turns to another and adds, “Jeyne Westerling Stark.”

               The reach was theirs at last, despite Mace Tyrell’s resistance. She has not heard what Margaery felt about it all, at this point she doesn’t care. Margaery can resist all she wants; nothing will stand in the way of dragon fire. The Tyrells were once loyal to the Targaryens, and they are once again. Daenerys saw to that personally herself.

“Those are an awful lot of candles milady,” says a soft voice from behind her, almost timid.

“I have lost many,” Answers Sansa without thought as she turns to look at the young boy before her. He is short and pasty faced, with mousy brown hair that was desperate for a comb.

“Pate,” says another, and Sansa glances up towards the face of a heavy looking young man around Jon’s age, with dark brown hair and intelligent eyes. He smiles at Sansa and then looks at Pate, “leave her ladyship in peace. She is praying for her lost family.”

“Forgive me,” Sansa says as she stands, “I should be going. I hope I have no disturbed any of you.”

“No please,” says the older boy, “forgive me, my lady…I’m Samwell Tarly, I knew your brother Jon.”

“Oh,” Sansa blanches visibly, not expecting such an encounter, “How did you know him?”

“The wall mostly,” Samwell smiles faintly, “I heard what happened…I’m so sorry.”

“Do you know what happened?” Sansa asks softly, completely forgetting the Pate boy as she steps towards Samwell, “do you know why they killed him?”

“It really isn’t for me to say my lady,” Samwell began hesitantly, “but if I had to guess…he broke his vows…they’re held to sworn oath to uphold justice…”

“But _why_?” Sansa presses, “Why would Jon break his vows?”

“I…I don’t know,” Samwell trails off, looking uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” Sansa says softly, “I don’t mean to upset you…I just can’t seem to figure out what happened to him is all. Like the rest of my family…even my sister is an enigma right now. She wasn’t at the wall like they claimed and I can’t seem to find her _anywhere_.”

“I will pray for you,” Samwell says, “for Jon and your family too.”

“Thank you,” Sansa smiles faintly as Sam turns away before adding, “could I ask you something?”

“Anything my lady,” Samwell says, pausing to look at her.

“Do you know…is there…” Sansa sighs, wringing her hands nervously, “this is going to sound odd…but I’m looking for a red priest.”

“Would that red priest happen to be named Milisandre?” Samwell asks pointedly, watching his friend’s sister shift nervously before him.

“I don’t know,” Sansa admits honestly, “do you know a red priest named Milisandre?”

“I met her once yes,” Samwell admits, “and she made me rather nervous if I’m being honest. She is with Stannis and his men…if that’s who you are seeking.”

“Thank you,” Sansa smiles faintly and turns to stare at the candles she’d lit for her family. 

“My lady,” Samwell says hesitantly, “please…please be careful. She is powerful and cunning…and she believes in this mad prophecy about Azor Ahai and the prince that was promised.”

“What?” Sansa blinks at him, “that’s not the first time I’ve heard that…about the prince….do you know what that prophecy is?”

“Not really,” Samwell tells her, “but I imagine that the red priestess could tell you.”

“Thank you master Tarly,” Sansa smiles politely, “and I will try and take care.”

“Then I bid you good day my lady,” Samwell smiles and leaves, sparing a glance to see that Pate is doing his chores before leaving.

When Samwell is gone she can hear Pate in the background, sweeping…sweeping…sweeping…the noise is irritating. The sound of straw scrapping against stone aggravates her but she holds her temper. When she turns to look at him he looks so innocent sweeping, such a young boy to be living in the citadel.

“How did you come to be here?” Sansa asks, watching him sweep.

“Oh,” Pate begins nervously, staring at his feet, “I started here a long while ago.”

“I should leave you to your duties,” Sansa smiles faintly at him, noting his lack of maester’s chains. If the boy had begun here so long ago why hadn’t he at least forged a couple of maester’s chains?

 

Outside, Oldtown is busy with people rushing to and fro, the hauling of carts heavy with war supplies and armed dornish soldiers regrouping. She finds Aegon under a nearby tree, rolling a dragon bone dagger between his hands, staring at it thoughtfully.

“How are you?” she says softly, watching the expressions war across his face.

“I’m alright,” he admits quietly, “I don’t want to see him Sansa, don’t bother asking. My aunt has already tried and I refuse.”

“He’s your Father,” Sansa says, kneeling before him with her hands on his knees so she can look up into his face, “He did a lot of crazy things in the past. He brought a lot of devastation to many families, but at the end of the day he is your kin.”

“Wearing my half-brother’s body like a man wears armor,” Aegon points out, “when I look at him I can’t wrap my mind around the idea that my Father…Rhaegar Targaryen is inside Jon Snow’s head. Worse, I don’t know where your half-brother is, and thereby feel responsible. I should be responsible for my kin’s actions…and I can’t fix what he’s done to you. I nearly killed you,” he says, trailing one hand lightly over her forearm, the one that had been burnt and scarred, “it seems as if we Targaryens are the bane of the Starks rather than your allies.”

“You’re not a bane to me Aegon,” Sansa says earnestly, smiling up at him softly, “You’re my friend…and I know you never meant to hurt to me. Rhaegar was doing what he thought was right at the time with my aunt Lyanna. He’s….”

“Touched in the head?” Aegon offers bitterly, staring down at the dagger in his hands, “just like my grandfather before him.”

“Mayhaps,” Sansa says gently, “but you are not your Father. You make your own decisions, and I know you will learn from your Father’s mistakes and be a good king.”

Aegon smiles faintly down at her, “You’re eternally optimistic aren’t you?”

“The glass is half full,” Sansa smiles up at him, “and I refuse to believe that you would ever end up like your Father or your Grandsire.”

“Then it is good that I would have you to remind me of that whenever my aunt deems it necessary to lecture me,” he laughs lightly, “I think I might go mad if I hear another lecture about dangerous behavior.”

“She’s still getting on to you about Rhaegal?” Sansa smiles up at him, “Oberyn has a tendency to lecture me about being a magnet for danger. He thinks it follows me everywhere and is half way tempted to ship me off back to Dorne just to keep me safe.”

               They walk through Oldtown together, arm in arm as they watch the troops shuffle around them. Far up above in the distance sits Highgarden, looming among the clouds. “I would like to meet Willas Tyrell I think,” Sansa tells him honestly, “I was to marry him once, did I ever tell you?”

“No,” he says as they walk, “do go on.”

“I was the plaything of Joffrey Baratheon for so long I forgot what kindness looked like,” Sansa admits, “three years of misery from the Lannisters. When Margaery offered to wed me to her eldest brother and make me the lady of Highgarden, I was more than glad to accept if it meant I could escape Kings Landing. I wasn’t sure if this was another trap or trick but it didn’t matter at that point. I wouldn’t live in King’s Landing anymore; I’d live in Highgarden with Willas and be the Lady of Highgarden and the reach. He was nearly ten years older than me but that didn’t even bother me at that point. Unfortunately…” Sansa says softly, a frown curving her lips downward, “The Lannisters discovered the plot and spoiled it by marrying me to Tyrion Lannister before the Tyrell’s could do anything to stop it. I was standing in my wedding silks, preparing to marry Willas and actually meet him for the first time when Cersei Lannister came into my chambers and made the idle comment _it’s such a shame to waste such beauty on that little imp…_ my first wedding was a misery but my second not so bad,” Sansa smiles and shrugs, “I am a Princess of Dorne and my husband is wonderful and loving, passionate for his causes.”

“Something I would never expect to hear about Oberyn Martell,” Aegon muses aloud, “I’m always hearing about how my Uncle is a brutal and blood thirsty man.”

“He is a good man,” Sansa tells him honestly, “Just don’t ever find yourself on the wrong end of his spear…he is what they say he is with his enemies.”

“Then my Uncle has found himself a loyal and devoted wife,” he nods, “who stands by his side regardless of idle slander. You know the truth of him.”

“I do,” Sansa says softly, “I love him dearly.”

“I would not think you my aunt though,” he admits to her as they walk, “I can’t seem to look at you that way. Do you mind terribly if I prefer you my cousin instead? We are technically cousins, if Jon’s birthing documents are to be believed.”

Sansa laughs, “I’ve never considered you my nephew either. I hadn’t really put much thought into our relations through marriage. I’ve always just seen you as cousin Aegon.”

               They reach the inn that many of the troops are staying at.  Sansa finds Oberyn easily, crowded by men and women as he tells stories of his youth. They laugh at his jokes and smile at his stories, and Sansa watches him for a long while, seated beside Aegon nearby. She feels a dreary sort of dread in her heart, the kind that she knows she must face head on.

“I have to find the red priestess Milisandre,” Sansa admits solemnly to Aegon as she watches Oberyn, her eyes distant.

“Why?” he frowns at her, ordering them both drinks.

“I must find Stannis and then find her…she might be able to help me find Jon,” Sansa tells him softly, “and if I tell Oberyn he’ll never let me go out there to find her.”

“You’re not suggesting what I think your suggesting are you?” Aegon says wearily, a frown curving his lips.

“Can I borrow your dragon?” Sansa asks, blinking up at him with bright blue eyes.

 


	41. Chapter Forty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Aegon pull a Rhaegar and Lyanna. Oberyn and Daenerys are not amused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Sansa**

“Aegon you can’t come with me,” Sansa says firmly, stalking down towards the dragon pit with the silver haired prince hot on her heels.

“You can’t go _without_ me,” he counters easily, “I have as much a reason to go as you. I feel responsible for the ailment to your kin…the least you can do is let me help you.”

“No,” Sansa tells him pointedly, “I’ll not be getting you into trouble because of me. Daenerys will be furious when she finds out.”

“True,” he nods, “She’ll be cross but not so cross when she finds out I’m with you, and that I went with you to right a few wrongs dealt to your family by my Father.”

“You are _not_ coming with me!” Sansa says, stamping her foot. Her behavior makes her blush, she hasn’t acted so childish since she was a girl-child at Winterfell and Arya was meddling with her toys.

“Sansa you can hardly ride a horse,” Aegon laughs, amusement dancing in his eyes as he hauls his own belongings over one shoulder and then takes hers as well, carrying them down to Rhaegal, “I’d hardly trust you with an entire _dragon_.”

“Oberyn will be so _angry_ …” she says as she hurries to keep up with him, “Aegon I don’t want him to be angry with you…this is my fault…I should take the blame because I insisted on going to find the red witch in the first place.”

“We’ll be back before they even noticed we’ve gone…and if we take too long we’ll tell them I took you to Winterfell and we were snowed in for a day,” he reassures her as he swings her up into his arms and onto Rhaegal’s back. “He can hardly hold it against you for wanting to help your brother. If it were reversed I’m sure he’d walk through the flames of dragon fire to get my mother back.”

They hear whining and Sansa looks down near Rhaegal’s feet. There was Ghost, staring up at her with blood red eyes. He whines and snatches hold of the reins with his teeth, tugging at it lightly as he met her gaze.  She slides off the dragons back easily and pets Ghost, urging him back towards the camp, “Go on…go back with Nymeria…you can’t come with us.” Prying the reins from his teeth she looks at him wearily, his determination was tiring. “Go on Ghost…your making Rhaegal nervous.” He whines louder, his intelligent eyes were almost _aware_ as they looked at her, pulling at her dress skirts with his teeth as she tries to climb back onto Rhaegal with Aegon’s help.

“ _No_ ,” Sansa says, pulling her skirts free, “go back to camp Ghost, _now_!”

It takes them a few tries to take off. Ghost is insistent, and runs along the meadows below them for a long while.  Finally he disappears from view in the woods beneath them, and Sansa sighs in despair, “I hope he doesn’t get lost. I’d be heartbroken if something happened to him.”

“That wolf probably ran around all over the lands beyond the wall,” Aegon points out, “I’m sure he’ll be fine and find his way back to Oldtown easily.”

“I hope so,” Sansa says quietly, worriedly.

 

               They go on for hours that way, silence as Sansa burrows closer to Aegon, trying to keep warm as the winter wind beats against them. They weren’t even sure where to look for Stannis; they had no idea where his headquarters were. “Aegon we need to land,” Sansa says against his shoulder, shivering with cold, “I’m so cold I can hardly feel my fingers.” To be honest, neither of them had a clue where they were.  A savage storm had hit them half-way from the reach and increased in strength the farther away from the reach they went.  The snow was blinding, and Aegon had to fly higher just to be able to see where they were going,  to get above the storm itself.

“Hang on,” Aegon tells her over the wind, “Let me find us a place to land.”

               The wind is savage as they dive down, and Sansa grits her teeth against it. She is scared, her heart racing in her chest at the sudden dive. She knows he must do it, they are too high in the air and they were going to freeze to death up there if they stayed any longer. He levels out a few hundred feet above the ground, and Sansa breathes a sigh of relief.

“There,” he says, turning Rhaegal in the direction of an enormous hill in the distance.  The wind is absolutely bone chilling, and the snow is blazing across their faces. This storm is fierce and it frightens Sansa. It has virtually come out of nowhere, a howling wind from the north.  “We’re somewhere over the edge of the Westerlands I think,” Aegon tells her, all but having to shout over the wind so she’ll hear him.   They land roughly, Rhaegal giving a cry of irritation as he stumbles over the tall hill. Aegon helps Sansa slide off, and the two of them frantically try and pull a make-shift tent together in the blazing wind. After a while it’s hopeless and the two huddle beneath Rhaegal’s massive wings, while the emerald green dragon curls down with his head beneath his wing to brace against the wind.

“This doesn’t look like the Westerlands,” Sansa says with a shiver, she was so cold her teeth her chattering. It was better under the Rhaegal’s wings though, they were shielded from the brunt of the storm.  Aegon unpacks there things, digging out food and blankets for them to curl up in.

“I would build a fire,” he tells her, “but it would require us to step out into the storm while Rhaegal lights it.”

“Last time we used dragon fire my husband was nearly killed and I got burned,” Sansa points out, “I’d rather just be a little cold.”

Aegon smiles faintly, “It won’t be fire we’d use,” he tells her, “Rhaegal can use heated breath to light the fire, but we’d need to keep back while he does it. In fact I think we should,” he says, his hand on Rhaegal’s side, “he’s cold…I would feel better if there were a fire to keep him warm as well.”

“So long as he doesn’t roll in it or anything,” Sansa says hesitantly, letting Aegon usher her out into the storm while Rhaegal lights the fire. By the time it’s truly dark they’re all huddled around a makeshift fire, trying to keep warm.

“Would it be too inappropriate for us to keep each other warm?” Aegon asks hesitantly shivering in the cold, “I mean no offense and you’re perfectly within your rights to deny me…”

“It’ll be fine,” Sansa says, curling her arms around his waist and burrowing against his neck, “I’m freezing too.” They sit for a long while, on an old wooden stump while Sansa gazes distantly into the fire. Finally she uncurls herself from his warm embrace and stands to stretch. Aegon has nodded off, his head leaning back against Rhaegal’s wing.  She paces the tiny campsite for a while, pondering how her husband was faring. She knew he’d be cross when he realized she’d gone, and she was probably never going to hear the end of it. She loved that he cared though, because it had been a long while since anyone had cared about her at all.

               As she turns towards him again she notices what he’s sitting on and freezes. “Aegon…” Sansa says hurriedly, her eyes trailing along several matching stumps all set in a circle, “Aegon _wake up_!”

“What?” he says, jumping to his feet quickly. He is half awake but alert, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly, “I shouldn’t have woken you like that…but it appears that you’re sitting on a weirwood stump.”

“Oh,” he says, blinking at the wooden stump he’d been sitting on, “I’m sorry….really…I had no idea…”

“Aegon I think I know where we are…” Sansa says worriedly, biting her lip, “and it’s not in the Westerlands….this is High Heart.”

 

* * *

 

**Oberyn**

 

               She was gone, and so was her direwolf.  Nymeria remained behind, pacing the study he currently sat in nervously. Daenerys was just as stressed as he was, both of them sitting in silence as they pondered what to do while Barristan Selmy stood behind her, looking perfectly agitated.

“A Targaryen and a Stark have run off together _again_ ,” he says with exasperation, “why the two families have such a fascination with each other is beyond me.”

“My wife hasn’t run off with him,” Oberyn says darkly, shooting a glare at Ser Selmy.

“Well my nephew hasn’t _kidnapped_ her, if that’s what you’re implying,” Daenerys shoots back at him, her look just as fierce as his.

“And how do you know that, _hm_?” Oberyn demands, facing her down, “Sansa wouldn’t just run off with him.”

“Well _apparently_ she has,” Daenerys counters easily, “and we need to find out why.”

“Then where should we start?” Oberyn asks expectantly, both eyebrows raised as he looks at her.

“I believe she went into the citadel this morning,” Ser Selmy adds to the conversation, “we might start there.”

 

* * *

 

**Sansa**

 

“Oh come now Sansa,” Aegon teases lightly, watching the fear flicker across her face, “you can’t honestly _believe_ in those old ghost stories do you?”

“Hundreds of children were slaughtered here,” Sansa tells him, “and the ghost of those dead children still haunt this hill.”

“Shall we leave then?” he muses aloud, watching her, “We can hardly leave in the middle of this storm can we? We’ll freeze to death just trying…” he tells her, pulling her into his arms and down onto a blanket he’d spread across the ground, “I shan’t sit on a weirwood stump if it offends you my lady, and I shan’t let us freeze to death either.”

“You don’t believe?” Sansa asks as she stares into the flames, telling him the story of Erreg the Kinslayer and how he killed the children of the forest along with the first men who lived on High Heart.

“ _Thousands_ of years ago Sansa,” he tells her, “It was _thousands_ of years ago.”

“It doesn’t mean it didn’t happen,” Sansa mutters against his shoulder, trying to sleep. She would just ignore the shiver running down her spine or the nervousness fluttering in her heart. She hadn’t been scared until she realized where they were, if she could only just fall asleep….

               Somewhere along the line she did fall asleep. When she wakes it’s still dark, and Aegon is asleep beside her, his head tipped back against Rhaegal’s wing, snoring lightly. She unravels herself from the mass of blankets they gathered around them, patting Rhaegal’s head lightly as she stretches her legs and walks around the campsite. It wasn’t the first time she’s paced this campsite and she figures dawn isn’t far off.  She could wait it out she thinks, watching Aegon sleep. She sits cross-legged before the fire and warms her hands, trying to shake the chill from her skin. Even under layers of riding leather and wolf fur she was still cold.

               Something feels odd about this place, like a thousand eyes were watching her. It would be the ghosts, Old Nan would say. Ghosts of the children watching her…that thought makes her even more restless. She tries to shake the eerie feeling of the place off, hopes for the dawn to come soon.  Every now and then she would look behind her, staring off into the darkness of the night beyond the tip of Rhaegal’s wing. Every now and then she thinks she sees movement but writes it off as a figment of her imagination.  It wasn’t until she hears the snapping of twigs outside that she really gets scared and jumps to her feet, tip-toeing as quietly as she can towards the edge of Rhaegal’s wing, peering out into the darkness.

               She sees nothing, her heart hammering in her chest. There was nothing out there, she repeated to herself like a mantra, muttering it under her breath as she turned toward the fire. Laughter as light as music floated towards her, silencing the moment she turned back towards the dark opening.  “Who’s there?” Sansa whispers, fearful that something might actually answer her.

               She can hear feet, running around Rhaegal, little feat as light as a feather, like dancing through the air around them. The trees below the hill creek and moan in the wind, the snow pours down upon them in sheets. She has to push snow back from the opening just to peer out; it was nearly as high as she was now.  She peeks cautiously, peering into the darkness….nothing happens…nothing moves.  Then all at once it dives right at her, bright cat like eyes as golden as a summer peach, shining in the firelight. Sansa screams and falls backwards, landing with a hard thump on the ground behind her. Rhaegal stirs with an uproar, startled. Aegon is flinging himself at Rhaegal, trying to calm the great beast while Sansa stares in horror up at the opening.

“What the…Sansa _what is it_?” He asks, watching her point with a shaky finger at the opening, her eyes as wide a saucers.

“ _I saw it_ …” she whispers in horror, “I saw it…Aegon there’s something out there…I saw it… _I saw it_!”

“Saw _what_?” he asks, kneeling beside her as he wraps a blanket over her shoulders, “Sansa your hands are like ice…come back by the fire…tell me what you saw,” he urges her, pulling her back towards the warmth of the fire.

“A child….it was a child…I saw it…Aegon I saw it…it’s out there…there’s a child out there…” she whispers, unable to raise her voice any higher for some reason.

“A child?” he says, alarmed, “Sansa stay here…let me see if I can find it…”

“No,” Sansa says frantically, grabbing his sleeve, “Don’t leave me…I’m scared…Aegon I’m so scared…don’t go…that’s no human child…that’s a _child of the forest_!”

Aegon deflates, looking both exasperated and a tiny bit amused. He pulls her into his arms and lets her shiver against him, shushing her softly, “Sansa it was a dream…you were dreaming.”

Laughter….as soft as music…

“What was that?” Aegon says quickly, his head snapping up at the sound and now looking properly startled.

“It’s one of _them_ ,” Sansa whispers against his shoulder, “it’s out there…”

“Ok…” Aegon breaths, clearly trying to settle his own nerves now, “Sansa…stay right here…I’m going to build up a bit of that snow…make a barrier.”

Sansa watches him go, shivers in the cold and burrows closer to Rhaegal’s side. Aegon presses snow against the opening, trying to make a wall almost as high as he was. “There,” he tells her, “they’ll not be getting in here any time soon.”

“But what if they’re _already_ in here?” Sansa says nervously, “what if they’ve _always_ been in here?”

“Nonsense,” Aegon dismisses lightly, “We’d have seen them. Rhaegal would have smelt them anyhow.”

“Not if he’s never smelt a child of the forest before,” Sansa points out, “how would he be able to tell the difference if he’s never even seen one before? He wouldn’t know to alert us. Besides that…whatever that thing was it was running round Rhaegal outside…I heard it…and Rhaegal didn’t even wake up.”

“Look,” Aegon sighs, “Sansa…maybe it wasn’t one of the children…maybe it was something else and were just working ourselves up for nothing. Let’s just go back to sleep, it’s been a long day and were both tired.”

               In the end she agrees, and watches Aegon add more wood to the fire before curling up beside her again. They sleep for hours it seems, before Sansa wakes. When she wakes the sun is clouded behind the sky and a dim gray light is peaking through the opening, which was nearly snowed completely over.  She doesn’t know what’s woken her or why, but the fire’s gone out.  She has her nose pressed against the crook of Aegon’s neck, and her eyes are still closed. She hears it again, that soft dance of feet but this time it was right beside her.

               She pretends to sleep, keeping as still as possible as it walks by. She cracks one eye open and dares to look, sees a child like creature maybe four feet tall, covered in dark green leaves with skin as brown as the wood of an oak tree.  It was rummaging through there things, it’s back turned to her. She sits up slowly, creeps as lightly as she can onto all fours as she watches it.

“ _Hey_ ,” she says, “don’t…don’t…. _panic_ ….easy…” She whispers, watching it whirl around to face her. She sits up on her knees and holds her hands out before her in surrender, watching its keen golden eyes watch her. “You were the one that was outside last night, weren’t you?”

When it doesn’t answer, she frowns, “Do you understand me? Do you know what I’m saying?”

It crept forward slowly on all fours, peering at her with those wild golden cat like eyes. It blinks at her, tilts its head to one side and then looks toward the opening. The grey morning light cast upon its face and suddenly it didn’t look as real as it had been. When she blinks the creature is gone, as if it had never been there at all. She stands to check the supplies, it had definitely been here…it had tossed there food everywhere. She jumps at the brush of movement against her side, watches little footprints of feet scurry across the floor beside her though she saw no one. “Invisible..” Sansa breaths... “You can make yourself _invisible_. I wish I’d had that skill when I was in Kings Landing,” Sansa says aloud quietly, hoping not to wake Aegon.

“ _You_ ,” says another voice, a musical voice like ringing bells. Sansa turns to look towards the opening, another child was peering at her through the cracks of snow, “You…come with me.”

“Who are…”

“No time to explain…you come,” the child demands, motioning her to follow. It disappears beyond the cracks and she hurries to dig the snow away, taking care to throw blankets over Aegon so he wouldn’t get cold before she goes.  It’s freezing outside but the snow has stopped, and the little child who’d been rummaging in her camp was trailing cautiously behind her, munching happily on an apple. The other one, the one who could speak her language was leading her into the forest below the hill.

“You,” it said, “you have the sight.”

“I do,” Sansa says, “how do you know that?”

“You are a _greenseer_ ,” it explains, “You have the sight like your brother.”

“Why can’t the other one speak?” Sansa frowns, motioning to the child behind her.

“I am the last of our kind that knows your human tongue…I am called Leaf,” she tells Sansa, staring up at the auburn haired girl with bright eyes.

“Leaf,” Sansa says with raised eyebrows, “Honestly I’m wondering if I’ve just eaten something strange and am having a funny dream right now…”

“You _are_ dreaming,” Leaf tells her, “You are still beneath the wing of that great green beast you call Rhaegal.”

“Wait…” Sansa says, “the whole night…the laughter…”

“That was real,” Leaf tells her, “these hills are haunted. That child behind you is one of the slain…he is the magic of this dream. High Heart is full of green magic; we needed it to reach you.”

“Reach me?” Sansa blinks, “Wait….”

“No time,” Leaf presses her, “you will wake soon. Your brother is alive….Bran calls to you but you do not _answer_. Why do you not answer the call?”

“What call?” Sansa says in frustration, “I’ve heard no _call_.”

“The seer does not see,” Leaf says thoughtfully, tilting her head to one side, “what use is a seer who cannot see. Like a bucket with a hole in the bottom, or a ladder with broken steps. Your brother sends you the call but you do not answer. He has spent great magic to reach you…our brothers and sisters reach out to you in this place but you do not _see_.”

“Stop talking in riddles and tell me what you mean,” Sansa says pointedly, “My brother is alive? Bran is alive? Where is he?”

“Far,” Leaf says, “far away…beyond the wall…beyond the land of men…beyond the haunted forest and deep snow…to the great weirwood tree…. _beneath the tree_.”

“Oh,” Sansa blinks down at her, “That dream…that was _Bran_?” she says incredulously.

“No time,” Leaf says, “No time…you must return.”

“Why?” Sansa blinks, “This is a dream isn’t it? I could stay as long as I wanted too I thought?”

“Not in green dreams,” Leaf tells her, “In green dreams if you are gone to long you might never find your way back. Follow Foliage…he will take you home.” Leaf is gone in seconds, within a blink of an eye. It is disorienting at first, the world around her is swaying and melting like water color in the rain. Green mixed with blue and red and orange. Foliage is running and she’s running behind him, the world around them dissolving.  The magic is failing she thinks, it can no longer hold the green dream. The moment she climbs into the opening of the camp she wakes up beside Aegon, sitting up as if from a strange dream.

Aegon stirs beside her and blinks up at her, smiling sleepily, “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Sansa says as she climbs out of bed. The supplies were still strung out across the hard cold ground. She gathers them quickly, stuffs them back into the supply bags as Aegon turns over onto his stomach to watch her.

“Did you get hungry last night?” he muses aloud, smiling at her.

“No,” Sansa says nervously, still unsure of the dream she just had, “We need to get moving.”

“What’s the rush?” he asks, climbing out from under the heavy blankets before starting to roll them up neatly. “Let’s have breakfast first…I’m starving.”

“Alright,” Sansa agrees, letting him eat before they leave. She wants to get away from this place, this place with magic still turning in the very ground they stand upon.  Once Aegon’s eaten and packed up their things, Rhaegal stands and shakes the snow from his wings, leaving them both standing beneath him as the cold morning air comes rushing in to greet them. They throw snow on the fire they’d made before climbing back onto Rhaegal’s back, taking flight high up into the air. When she looks back at High Heart she thinks she can see golden eyes, shimmering in the sunlight as they watch her fly away.

 


	42. Chapter Forty-Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aegon and Sansa wander into the Vale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Sansa**

 

               How long has it been since she saw land? They’ve been flying for hours. Off and on they landed, stretched their legs and looked around.  “Aegon,” Sansa says wearily, rubbing her sore lower back, “Aegon I don’t know how in the blazes were going to find them. We’ve been up and down the valley for hours now. If Stannis were hiding here he must be hiding under a rock somewhere that we missed….else I’d dare say he’s not here at all.”

“You’d think we’d see his army by now,” Aegon frowns, “It’s a bit odd isn’t it?”

“It’s a wonder we can see anything in all this snow,” Sansa mutters irritably, kicking snow away from her shoes. “We need directions…or some kind of idea where they are. We’ve been gone for two days…we shouldn’t have been gone this long…”

“I agree,” Aegon nods, “Sansa we should turn back by sundown…if we haven’t found anything by then we make camp and turn back at first light.”

She nods solemnly, climbing carefully up on a slick snow covered boulder to get a look at their surroundings. “Looks like….Oh I haven’t a clue where we are Aegon…everything is covered in snow….any kind of identifiable landmark is all but hidden.”

 

               They break for lunch, roasted mushrooms with a slice of cheese and mulled wine to warm them. It frightened Sansa to think that she couldn’t sort out where they were. It didn’t look like the North, at least not any part she’d ever seen. It didn’t look like the Reach or the Westerlands…where in the blazes were they?

“Were in the Vale,” Aegon suddenly says, squinting in the sunlight around them and then looks down at the map in his hands, “I recognize those mountain ranges there….they match the ones on this map.”

She looks to where he is pointing and then at the map with a nod before replying, “My Aunt Lysa is Lady of the Vale…she married Petyr Baelish recently.” That name rings a bell in the back of her mind, and an uncomfortably foul feeling overtakes her. There was something odd going on with Petyr Baelish, his name kept cropping up everywhere. Then another thought crosses that on and she stares over at Aegon, the thought occurring to her quickly, “Aegon…were in the Vale…and if were in the Vale and in the mountain ranges…we’d best get out of here.”

“Why?” Aegon frowns at her as he turns a mushroom over in the fire.

“Mountain men…they live in the range around here…they call themselves the _true_ first men…they live like Wildlings,” Sansa explains, watching him cook his mushroom.

“Well you needn’t worry about your mountain men Sansa,” he tells her with slight amusement, “they’d not try anything with Rhaegal at our sides.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever really met one of them, have you?” Sansa says, looking at him incredulously. “I’m packing our things…we need to leave _now_.”

“I don’t think it’s mountain men you ought to be worried about lass,” says a voice from somewhere nearby. When she turns there is a group of men on horseback, wielding familiar banners.

“Who goes there?” Aegon says; hand on the hilt of his sword. Rhaegal stirs behind him, growling.

“No,” Sansa says quickly, catching Aegon by the arm, “Wait…I know those banners…those are the banners of the Arryn’s. My Aunt Lysa’s banners….” Sansa tells him, stepping forward towards the men approaching, “My lords…I am Princess Sansa Stark Martell, Lady Lysa Arryn is my lady aunt and sister to my lady mother, Lady Catelyn Stark.”

“Yes,” one says, “I know who you are lass,” he tells her, “and you and your kin are waging a war against our King,” he points out.

“Please my lords,” she says politely, “I bid you take me to my Aunt Lysa. Let me speak with her, I will sort this out with her. This is Prince Aegon Targaryen…and that lovely green dragon behind him is Rhaegal. I would highly suggest you refrain from antagonizing Rhaegal…he doesn’t approve of people meddling with his rider.”

It was as if they hadn’t noticed the dragon before, the men on their horses shifting nervously. They mutter hasty words among themselves before looking back at Sansa, “Very well Princess…we’ll take you to your Aunt…but that great beast shan’t come along.”

“That great beast goes where I go,” Aegon says pointedly, “and I go where _she_ goes,” he tells them, nodding towards Sansa.

They look displeased but eventually give in; it didn’t do well to argue with a man who had a dragon at his back. They’d learned that the first time a Targaryen came to Westeros on the back of a dragon.  Sansa rides with Aegon towards the Eyrie, and they land in the wide courtyard towards the back. They are greeted by many guards and a pale faced pointy nosed woman she knew as her aunt Lysa.

“My lady aunt,” Sansa says as she is helped down off Rhaegal, “I do believe we have not seen each other since I was just a girl child.”

“No we haven’t,” Lysa says stiffly, her eyes on the dragon behind her before shifting to the silver haired prince at her niece’s side. “Princess are you? So this must be your prince…”

“No my lady,” Sansa blushes brightly, Aegon shifting uncomfortably out of the corner of her eye beside her, “This is my….well…he’s my cousin…and my nephew I suppose. I am the lady wife of Prince Oberyn Martell.”

“ _The Red Viper_?” Lysa looks incredulous as she looks upon her niece, “sweet seven…you poor girl.”

“It wasn’t by force,” Sansa says quickly as she and Aegon are ushered inside behind her aunt, “I was…he made the offer and I chose to accept it.”

“I thought I heard a familiar voice,” says another and Sansa visibly stiffens, sliding closer to Aegon as the slippery little man makes his appearance. Petyr Baelish made her nervous even in Kings Landing, he was as clever as they came and if there was ever anyone she would truly call a _snake_ it would be _him_.

“Lord Baelish,” Sansa says with a polite curtsey before curling her arm through Aegon’s neatly so that he might not be able to kiss her hand. It went unnoticed thankfully, it was rude to do such a thing but Sansa wanted no part of Petyr Baelish.  Aegon’s hand rests on the one curled around his arm, and he smiles with a polite nod towards Baelish.

“And you are…” Baelish says, eyeing the silver prince, “ah…I know…you must be Prince Aegon…I’ve heard so much of you.”

“And I’m afraid I haven’t heard a thing about you,” Aegon smiles politely, keeping Sansa close even as Baelish steps forward.

“And why have you graced us with your presence?” Baelish presses politely, keeping that strange smile on his lips.

“Business of course,” Sansa cuts in, “and of course…I wanted to see my Aunt Lysa. It has been far too long.”

“Ah,” Baelish nods, “I see…yes…I suppose you want us to join your cause?”

“I would,” Aegon tells them honestly, “but I would not impede on Princess Sansa’s visit with her aunt. If you have a war room I would like to retire there while the ladies catch up.”

“Of course,” Petyr smiles and motions him to follow, other banners of the Vale follow after them. Sansa goes with Lysa into her solar, where they are served mint tea and honey biscuits. Sansa is nervous about this, this wasn’t part of the plan. They might as well tackle the Vale since they were there though.

 

* * *

 

**Aegon**

 

“You know, as I recall three hundred years ago, another Aegon came here to take the Vale,” Petyr tells him over the oblong wooden table, a map of the seven kingdoms spread over it.

“He came with a dragon too,” Aegon adds, “and I will make you the same offer he did. I have no desire to burn your kingdom but my Aunt makes her demands very clear…if you swear your fealty we shall leave you in peace, if you resist and your kingdom will burn.”

“Straight to the point, aren’t we?” Petyr muses aloud, looking entirely amused by Aegon’s nerve.

“I haven’t the time for dalliances, Lord Baelish,” Aegon explains easily. He hadn’t planned to do this just yet, but he could see the look in Sansa’s eyes. They might as well…

“Well then,” Petyr tells him with a flourish of his hands, “straight to the point then. I believe Jon Arryn’s ancestor made an offer of marriage to King Aegon as well…and I am offering one to you. My step-son Robert Arryn has need of a wife.  I understand your Lady Aunt Queen Daenerys is unwed.”

“My aunt has no desire for a husband,” Aegon dismisses, “and your step-son is no more than eight or nine I believe.”

“Eight actually,” Petyr says with a sigh, “It was worth a shot I suppose.”

“My aunt would be flattered by the offer I assure you,” Aegon says politely, “Lord Baelish…Lords of the Vale,” Aegon says, addressing the other men in the room now, “I come here on peaceful terms, to negotiate your surrender. I do not come to take your lands or your castles…I do not wish to steal from you that which is rightfully yours. I only come here to reclaim what is rightfully mine by birth right. The treason committed against my Lord Father Rhaegar Targaryen cannot be overlooked. My aunt and I know of your willfulness in the Usurper’s rebellion. I also know why you did it…and I also understand what my Grandsire did to cause such an uprising. I assure you my lords…it shan’t ever happen again, and my aunt and I will see to the compensation and repayment of losses to all.”

“We rose up and joined the Starks because your grandsire kidnapped Lady Lyanna Stark,” says one, “how exactly are you going to repay us that offense? You can’t give her back can you? She’s _dead_ Prince Aegon…dead and gone forever.”

“Please,” Aegon says pointedly, “I did not come here to argue with you. I came here to save you from dragon fire. My aunt will show you no quarter should you rebel. My family was ruthlessly slaughtered; my sister was murdered as was my mother. The Martells and the Targaryens have been dealt a great loss for the sake of Lyanna Stark, her grandsire and her brother. I would dare say that we are equal in that sense…that we have both lost a great deal on both sides…let us put aside the past and the hurts caused by it…let us simply set it aside and begin again.”

               Sansa would be proud of him, he thinks to himself. He was being as diplomatic as she might be, and that was something he admired greatly in her. She already makes for a good princess, but would have made for a magnificent queen. Thinking of Sansa returns his mind to Petyr Baelish and the uncomfortable way he leered at her. He did not like the way Baelish was looking at Sansa, and longed to keep her away from him and take her back to his Uncle.

“Your words are heart felt and touching Prince Aegon,” Baelish says, “but I am Lord Protector of the Vale…and if my banners would agree to this alliance then I will of course consent.”

“If it’s alright my lord,” one of the banners say, “We want to take some time and discuss this amongst ourselves.”

“Of course,” Baelish agrees, “and you and Princess Sansa can attend dinner with my Lady wife and her son this evening,” he adds, looking at Aegon.

He would sooner run naked through the mountains of the Vale with the Baratheon sigil painted across his chest before he ever took supper with Petyr Baelish.  “I would be honored;” Aegon smiles politely, “but Princess Sansa’s lord husband will be expecting her. I must return her home and then I can come back here in a week’s time for your decision.”

“As you wish,” Baelish smiles faintly, bowing respectfully as Aegon leaves to go and find Sansa.

               It was well in his mind to find her too, he was worried. He didn’t like the shifty way these people behaved, and he didn’t like to leave her alone for too long with strangers either. He didn’t care if Lysa Arryn was her lady aunt; he wasn’t going to let either of them stay for longer than they must. He could hear Rhaegal outside, shifting nervously in the courtyard. Rhaegal was good at sensing trouble, and if his dragon told him anything it was that trouble was on the horizon.

 

* * *

 

**Sansa**

“I haven’t heard that aunt Lysa,” Sansa says with a faint smile as Lysa tells her the story of how she and Petyr had first met. She felt sorry for her aunt, her aunt who’d been terrorized by Jon Arryn, and lost the man she really loved to her own sister. Her sister who never loved Petyr, and Lysa who was overlooked. Still, her aunt breast feeding her cousin _did_ make her a little nervous. They’d left the solar to gather in the great hall so that Sansa could meet Robert.

“Cousin Robert,” Sansa smiles faintly at him, “you’ve gotten…tall.”

“Mother,” Robert says, “I want to show cousin Sansa the moon door…can I show her?”

“Now Robert,” Lysa says softly, “you know that the moon door is reserved as punishment. We wouldn’t want to frighten your cousin now would we?”

“It’s quite alright,” Sansa smiles softly, “Every castle has its quirks. Winterfell has hot fresh springs running through its walls, an interesting architectural idea by Brandon the Builder.”

Robert lets out a squeal of delight as she springs from his mother’s lap, reaching for the gilded steel release handle. The drop is breathtaking as Sansa peers nervously over the edge, glancing from her giddy cousin to the great gaping hole at her feet. “Remarkable, truly…” Sansa says politely, “though quite windy.”

“Robert that’s enough now,” Lysa says lightly as the boy obeys and shuts the great moon door.

               Sansa wanted out of this strange castle as soon as possible. There was something strange about her cousin and aunt, and she couldn’t quite decide what that was.  She takes her seat again and smiles politely, ever the proper lady. It was times like these that she wished she had her coronet, if anything to remind herself that she was a Princess of Dorne, that she was not to be trifled with. Yet sitting before the Lady of the Eyrie and her cousin she felt small and insignificant.  She felt like the powerless little fool she was when she first came to Kings Landing, and can’t help but wonder if she’s walked right into yet another trap.

“Will you be staying the night?” Lysa asks, “I would dearly love you too. You could dine with us this evening. I could tell you more stories of your mother and I in our childhood.”

“Oh…” Sansa smiles softly, “I’m afraid that would be up to my escort Prince Aegon. I also know that I shan’t be long from home now…we’ve been gone a bit longer than we meant too and my husband will surely be missing me.”

“My lady,” one of the servants steps in, out of breath from his hurried climb up the great staircase behind them, “My lady…there is a visitor.”

“Tell them I’m busy,” Lady Lysa says, “I am with a guest…if they have a matter of estate I shall deal with it on the morrow.”

“No my lady,” the servant says pointedly, “the visitor is requesting the presence of Princess Sansa.”

“Who is it?” Sansa asks before Lysa can say anything.

“She won’t say,” says the servant, “she said you’d ask that though…and she said to tell you that she is someone you’ve been looking for.”

               She follows the servant down into the courtyard like a woman in a dream. How did that woman know she was looking for her? It made her unsettlingly nervous even more when she saw the red priestess standing beneath Rhaegal, completely unnerved by his presence.

“A red witch,” Lysa mutters behind her, “the guards should have never allowed her in.”

“Please aunt Lysa,” Sansa says quietly, “I need to speak with her…it’s important.”

“Speak your peace and then send her on her way,” Lysa says darkly, “I won’t have the likes of her anywhere in the Eyrie…she is not welcome here. She is the red witch of Stannis Baratheon…be careful with her Sansa.”

               Sansa steps forward cautiously all while the woman watches her. She slides a hand across Rhaegal’s scales, smiling appreciatively, “Your silver prince has a handsome dragon.”

“He isn’t my silver prince,” Sansa says politely, “he is my escort…I am…”

“I know who you are,” Milisandre says with a tilt of her head. She was just as the stories say. She was beautiful with hair like fire, and clothed in all dark red fabric. She lowers the hood of her cloak and her red hair spills down her back and shoulders. Sansa watches her while she paces before adding, “I also know why you are looking for me.”

“How did you know?” Sansa frowns at her, “I made it no common knowledge that I was seeking you out.”

“The red god knows all,” Milisandre replies easily, “and he showed me in the flames that a woman kissed by fire was searching for me…he showed me the place where the hawks fly and I knew that it could only be one place…here in the Vale.”

“And does your fire god know where my brother might be?” Sansa asks as she watches Milisandre, “Jon Snow is my brother…I know you’ve met him. My brother found me in Dorne…but he wasn’t my brother…he was Rhaegar Targaryen wearing my brother like a suit of armor.”

Milisandre freezes mid step at these words and turns to look at her, “you are certain of this? That it is another who took his body?”

“Yes,” Sansa tells her, “I don’t know who brought him back…but you’re the only one who could do that in Westeros. I need you to fix it…put it right…put Jon back in his body.”

“I did not bring him back,” Milisandre says, waving a finger at her with a click of her tongue. “Someone else has done this. Though if you say that another has taken his body than that means he is of the same bloodline. Only one of the same bloodline could take the body of another, and if Rhaegar Targaryen could take his body that means your brother is trapped somewhere.”

“ _Where_?” Sansa asks, fighting the desperate ache in her voice.

“I don’t know,” Milisandre shrugs, “I can fix it…but you must first find your brother. I could call him…try and sense where his spirit hides but I would need to see the body to do that. I need to _touch_ it.”

“And if I were to let you near him…and you found Jon how would you go about setting it right?” Sansa asks, feeling all the more wary about this by the second.

“He must die first,” Milisandre explains, “and when Rhaegar’s spirit has been purged, I can restore your brother to his body.”

“You have to _kill_ him?” Sansa says uneasily, frowning. She didn’t like the idea of anyone killing her brother, even if it’s just his body and not his spirit.

“You do not trust the fire god,” Milisandre smiles thinly at her, “you do not believe…but you will. I see many things in the fire…and some of them about you. You wield magic of your own…you don’t know it yet, but you do.”

“This woman is a witch Sansa,” Aegon says quietly, stepping out from the shadows behind her, “don’t trust her.”

“Your silver prince has come,” Milisandre smiles, eyeing Aegon thoughtfully, “another bloodline.”

“Aegon I don’t have a choice…Jon is in trouble,” Sansa tells him quietly, “I failed my family in everything else…I can’t fail in this too…I just _can’t_.”

“My aunt won’t allow that red witch anywhere near my Father,” Aegon says quietly, “and though I refuse to have anything to do with him…bear in mind that’s my _father_ your opting to kill.”

“You’re Father stole my brothers body!” Sansa tells him pointedly, “that’s my _brother’s_ body!”

“I can see you two have much to discuss,” Milisandre says, “and I must be leaving. I also came here not just because the fire god bade me…I came here to deliver you a message from Stannis.”

“And what message might that be?” Aegon asks, pushing Sansa behind him. Milisandre only seems amused at the gesture.

“My King is the Prince that was promised,” she tells them, “he is Azor Ahai come again and you would do well to remember that. If you stand against the will of the gods, you shall surely fail.”

“Wait,” Sansa says as Milisandre turns away to leave, “You said the prince that was promised…that’s what Rhaegar kept saying…he claimed that _he_ is the prince that was promised…what is that? What does it mean?”

“It’s a very old prophecy,” Milisandre says, “five thousand years ago a prophecy was made that a prince would come and save the land from a great darkness. Azor Ahai…he would come wielding lightbringer, and with lightbringer he would vanquish the evil that lurked in that darkness. Without him this world will be destroyed and all of us with it. There is only one Azor Ahai but many pretenders. Rhaegar Targaryen is not who he thinks he is.”

“How would you know?” Sansa presses, “How do you know he isn’t?”

“I’ve seen it in the fire,” Milisandre counters easily. “Azor Ahai was born amongst smoke and salt, under a red star blazing across the sky.”

“That could be _anyone_ ,” Aegon argues, “I was born under a red star amongst smoke and salt for example. _I_ was conceived on Dragonstone amongst smoke and salt, and the day I was born a red star blazed across the night sky overhead. In fact I’m fairly certain there was probably other children born that same night under the same conditions down in the village.”

“What is lightbringer?” Sansa cuts in before Milisandre can answer Aegon, “what’s it do?”

“Lightbringer is a flaming sword,” Milisandre explains, “Have you never heard the story of Azor Ahai?”

“No,” Sansa says softly, all the new information whirling around in her mind.

“Then I will tell it to you by the next moon. We shall meet again on Dragonstone,” she tells them, turning towards her horse that waited nearby.

“Everything has its price,” Sansa says, watching the red priestess wearily, “I’ve learned that from experience. What do you want in exchange for my brother?”

Milisandre smiles at her, “There will come a day when I will want something of you. Until that day comes…be at peace knowing your brother will be safe.”

They watch her leave wearily, before Sansa turns to Aegon, “I don’t know what she’ll want of me…should I be making deals like that?”

“No,” Aegon frowns, “we’ll find another priest….we can’t trust her.”

               They head back for the reach, and the closer they get the more restless Sansa is.  Eventually Aegon’s warm hand rests on her waist, stilling her movements against him. “Sansa….can…can you not do that?”

“Do what?” Sansa frowns up at him before it clicks, and immediately turns away from him, blushing brightly. “I’m sorry…I’m _so_ sorry.”

“Yeah,” Aegon laughs nervously, “It’s not your fault really…I just…this is really embarrassing. Might we just…skip this?”

“Yes,” Sansa agrees as the two fall silent.  As they pass over the camp in the reach they can see Daenerys’s silver hair in the moonlight.  When they land she’s there, waiting. Aegon is the first to speak before Daenerys can get a word out edge wise.

“I’ve nearly secured the Vale for us dear aunt,” he says quickly, even as he spies Oberyn walking towards them as well.

“I…” Daenerys trails off and then frowns, deflating, “ _what_?”

“Sansa and I…we’ve nearly secured the Vale…we went there today to negotiate their fealty to you,” Aegon smiles pointedly at Daenerys while Sansa steps around him, wanting to disappear on the spot while her husband walks right towards her, looking both furious and relieved.

“Come with me,” Oberyn says, offering her his arm. Sansa knows he’d never be forceful with her, but his tone brook no argument. She took his elbow and smiled faintly at Aegon before heading back up to the camp with Oberyn. He is so quite she can hear the crickets in the trees around them. He isn’t going to speak first, she knows that. He’s probably too angry to trust himself to speak, so she starts first.

“I know your angry,” she tells him softly, “I’m sorry….I went to find a red priest. I know it doesn’t make any sense but I swear I’ll tell you everything.”

“You should have told me,” he says quietly, “instead of keeping secrets from me. I cannot protect you when you run off on your own like that. I promised you safety and I can’t keep that promise if you won’t let me.”

“I know,” Sansa says quietly, staring at her feet as they walk.

After a long pause he makes an irritated noise with his nose and glances at her before turning his gaze ahead of them again, “Aegon says you two were at the Vale?”

“Yes,” Sansa nods, “and we met with Stannis’s red priestess Milisandre…she found us there. She told me how we might get Jon back. Also….Aegon worked with them on negotiations while I visited with my Aunt Lysa.”

“Stannis?” he hisses quietly, “was he there too?”

“No,” Sansa says quickly, seeing the anger flash in his eyes, “Oberyn I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have just taken off like that.”

“You don’t trust me do you?” he says quietly, stopping so suddenly that she nearly stumbles.

“I…” she changes her mind, seeing the hurt on his features, “I do trust you Oberyn…”

“Yet you don’t trust that I would let you go and find a way to save your brother?” he frowns at her, “Sansa if you’d just told me the truth I would have gladly _helped_ you do it.”

“You’re still hurt,” Sansa points out, “I would not see you in danger…not again. I lost you once…I’m not losing you again.”

“And you don’t think I couldn’t have sent people with you? I couldn’t have helped you find a way to reach this red priestess without you having to leave the reach?” he looks both hurt and frustrated. He starts walking again, and she trails along beside him.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly, feeling like a fool. She should have trusted him with this and yet she didn’t. She was just afraid, afraid for his safety, afraid to lose him again.  “ _Oberyn_!” Sansa says, catching his elbow. “I am really sorry….I know I should have trusted you. I was just really scared…I was being selfish…I just wanted to keep you to myself. I don’t want to lose you.”

“And you don’t think _I’m_ selfish sometimes?” he says pointedly, “you don’t think _I_ would rather not see you endangered? That I would rather keep you here where you’re safe?” He catches her by the arm and pulls her against him, kissing the top of her head, “I was worried and I was helpless. I didn’t even know where you were Sansa.”

“I’m sorry,” Sansa says earnestly, smoothing her fingers over his cheeks and cupping his face, kissing him tenderly, “I’m _so_ sorry Oberyn.”

               She wakes the next morning curled in his arms, warm and content. Her fingers curl across his bandaged shoulder lightly, and hopes she hadn’t hurt him in their hasty lovemaking. He stirs sleepily and smiles down at her, Sansa tilting her chin up to kiss him. His breath was a stale as hers which was amusing, she found that she didn’t worry about those things anymore. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he says in reply, his warm hands sliding up and down her bare back soothingly, “did you sleep well?”

“Yes,” she nods with a smile, “and you?”

“Yes,” he nods and grimaces a little, his shoulder slightly stiff, “I shouldn’t have been so hasty last night though...my shoulder doesn’t seem to agree with it.”

“Oh,” Sansa frowns, “shall I go and fetch the maester?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I would rather just lay here with you…it’s the only time I’ve ever felt completely warm. This place is so cold…I would rather end this war and go back to Dorne but I can see this is going to take a while.”

“Speaking of Dorne,” Sansa says pointedly, “We need to tell them you’re alive.”

“Yes,” he nods, “Ellaria is going to be very angry with both of us,” he tells her softly, “and my brother will understand. Ellaria will too…when we explain it to her.”

Sansa nods, “So…shall I write the letter or will you?”

“You,” Oberyn says after a moment, “my brother will think it an imposter if it comes with my seal.”

“Ellaria told me that your daughters were imprisoned at the Water Gardens when they found out you’d died…they were planning on starting a war with Stannis.”

“We’re _already_ at war with Stannis,” Oberyn muses aloud, “I don’t dare to think what they’d been planning though. My daughters have my vengeance streak in them.”

 

* * *

 

               They stay in bed longer than intended, mostly due to Sansa’s inability to keep her hands off her husband and his inability to do the same. When they do finally emerge from their bed chambers and head down into the campsite arm in arm. It was a cold grey morning, cloudy and overcast.  As they walk she sees him, that same boy from the citadel. He walks along the cobble stone streets wearing a brown hooded cloak, partly shielding his face from view. Before she can mention it they reach the center of the camp where Daenerys has begun her war council. Daenerys is at the center of it all in obsidian colored armor. “Finally,” she says as they approach, “I was wondering what had become of you.”

“Forgive me your grace,” Oberyn says with a sly smile, “I have a very beautiful wife.”

Daenerys smiles faintly, “Then let’s begin shall we?”

               It’s a simple approach, they have the reach, the stormlands, Dragonstone, the whole of the north and once they have the Vale in their grip they’ll be ready to take the Westerlands.  “This part especially won’t be easy,” Daenerys reminds them all. “This is the base of the Lannister’s power...now I know they’ve been substantially weakened, and now that the Tyrell’s are with us it will be difficult for King Tommen to hold the throne anymore. His lady wife Margaery Tyrell still resides in Kings Landing with him. Margaery is under no means to be harmed whatsoever. We have promised Mace Tyrell to return to him his daughter unscathed and that is what we shall do.  The remaining Tyrells will also be returned to the reach unharmed. Once we knock out the Lannister’s main power we can take the Crownlands with relative ease.”

“Why not simply lay an ultimatum at the boy’s feet,” Oberyn suggests, “instead of waging a war against the Westerlands…save men and supplies by simply going to the boy on the back of a dragon and make a statement with that alone.”

“Because we haven’t the Iron Islands as of yet,” Daenerys points out, “which is a task I would give to Princess Sansa if she is willing. You are the warden of the north and the Lady of Winterfell. It is your right to deal with the Ironborn.”

“I’ll gather my banners,” Sansa nods, “we’ll see it done your grace.”

“Good,” Daenerys nods thoughtfully before turning back to her own council, continuing her discussion. As she stands there she notices the same boy from the citadel, _Pate_ was his name she thinks, lingering in the background of the campsite, watching the group thoughtfully.

“He’s been following us,” Sansa says quietly to Oberyn, “I’ve seen him before…in the village on the way here…and I met him in the citadel the first day we came here.”

“You are certain?” he asks, his gaze finding the boy.

“Yes,” Sansa nods, “but he’s harmless I think…he’s a novice of the citadel.”

“Even a novice can wield a knife,” Oberyn muses quietly.

“I’ll call if I need help,” Sansa kisses his cheek and heads towards the boy, watching him blink up at her as she approaches.

“Pate isn’t it?” she says, smiling politely, “I remember you from the citadel.”

“Yes my lady,” he says nervously, staring at his feet, “I wasn’t spying or nothing…”

“It’s fine,” Sansa smiles, dismissive, “are you looking for someone Pate?”

“You my lady,” he admits honestly, “would you mind walking with me?”

               He is such a shy boy, bright innocent eyes under thin pale hair. He huffs in the cold morning air as they walk towards the citadel, his breath like ice in the air around them. “Me? Why would you be looking for me?”

“ _Valar Morgulis_ …” he says quietly.  

Sansa freezes mid-stride to look at him, “All men must die... _Oberyn_ ,” she breaths and whips around towards the camp, panic ripping through her. Horror is a living thing rushing through her blood, before the squat pasty boy grabs her arm with fingers stronger than she thinks he should have, dragging her into the alley. She lets out a scream but he clamps his clammy fingers over her mouth and shushs her.

“No,” he whispers, “a princess misunderstands.”

His voice had changed though his face had not. She was completely confused now, blinking down at the pasty boy. “What?” she whispers, looking mortified.

“A princess is looking for a sister, no?” he questions, “A man has seen a sister, Arya Stark.”

“You…” she breathes, “what _are_ you?”

“A princess asks too many questions,” Pate tells her, stepping away from her with his hands at his sides, “a princess wants to know where her sister is?”

“Yes,” she answers, “your Lyseni aren’t you?”

“A man does not answer those questions,” he says, “a man can tell you where a sister might be hiding.”

“Who are you?” Sansa demands, “you aren’t a citadel novice I take it.”

“A question a man will not answer,” he tells her easily, sparking annoyance in Sansa’s eyes.

“You know where my sister is?” she tries again.

He nods, “A sister is in Braavos.”

“Braavos,” Sansa says, her heart filling with joy and hope, “Arya is _alive_?”

“Yes,” he answers with a nod.

“How do I find her?” she presses, stepping forward.

“A sister can be found in…” he cuts off with a cry, a flash of white blurring right past her and knocking her to the ground. Pate is knocked to the ground as well, a snarling direwolf in his face.  Sansa’s head snaps up as Ghost rips at his sleeve, a knife flashing in Pate’s hands.

“No!” she screams out, hand outstretched as she scrambles to get up and pull Ghost off of him. It wasn’t enough time; she wouldn’t be able to stop either of them. “ _No_!” she screams and suddenly everything goes black. She can feel herself becoming part of Ghost, and then suddenly she _wasn’t_. Searing pain rips through her and she screams out in agony before consciousness fades from her completely.


	43. Chapter Forty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa awakens in a new world and flips Oberyn's upside-down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones. 
> 
> A/N: Thank you to all those who reviewed, it was lovely! I'm sorry this update took so long I've had a long and busy few days.

**Aegon**

 

               He cradles her gently to his chest as he hurries through the crowded streets, Oberyn right behind him. She is limp and lifeless in his arms, her arms hanging losing at her sides. He doesn’t understand what’s happened, he only knows there is a thin line of blood trickling from her nose, and her eyes are closed. Her direwolf was out too, and he’d been swung up into the arms of Daemon Sand. The man who’d caused the commotion was gone, he’d fled before they’d even got there. He’d started to give chase but Oberyn called him back. He couldn’t carry Sansa, his arm wasn’t strong enough yet.  She is taken the maester’s, laid out before them on a table. They cannot explain what’s happened to her, though they sense that whatever it is has something to do with her direwolf. He himself isn’t even certain, he just heard her screaming, and by the time he got there her eyes were as white as milk and her body was convulsing.

               They took her back to Dragonstone in the morning upon Oberyn’s insistence. Her life was in danger there, and he would not expose her to any more harm. He flew them both back one at a time, along with her direwolf. Both have been unconscious for days, and none of it makes any sense at all.

“How is she?” he finds himself asking for the fifth time that day. Oberyn is sitting by her bed, wiping a damp cloth over her forehead.

“Unchanged,” he says quietly, “I think I know what caused this, but I do not know how to undo the effects.”

“A poison?” Aegon suggests, “you are the master of poisons Uncle…you don’t have an antidote for this?”

Oberyn smiles faintly, “I would be able to produce an antidote for nearly any poison but this is no poison. This is _magic_. Old magic…magic from thousands of years ago….did she ever tell you? Her family is descended from the children of the forest and the first men.”

  
“We found one of them,” Aegon says after a long pause, “while we were travelling. We found one on High Heart...I saw it too.”

“Do you think you could find it again?” Oberyn asks, glancing at him, “I don’t know how to fix this…she is what they call a _warg_. She has the magic in her to take over the bodies of animals, to control their minds and make them do as she bids. She is a _skin changer_ …a child of the forest herself…the maester’s were right in there assumptions that this ailment is connected to her direwolf. She must have tried to warg into Ghost and for some reason it went wrong.”

“Well that explains a lot,” Aegon says quietly, remembering the night on High Heart vividly. “I doubt I’ll be able to find the creature again…Sansa told me that it was a ghost…a ghost of one of the slain children. Even if I were to find it I doubt it could leave High Heart.”

“Then let us hope she wakes on her own…if she doesn’t I will go to High Heart myself and search for the children.”

“They aren’t there,” Aegon says as he stares down at Sansa. She looked so fragile, so delicate lying there in bed. All the color has gone from her cheeks, making her red hair look like fire in the hearth light. “Sansa said there all beyond the wall somewhere.”

“Then beyond the wall is where I shall go,” Oberyn says firmly, “Your aunt can wage her own war against the Lannisters…my lady needs me.”

Aegon nods, “I could help if you’d like…I could fly you over the wall, we could search together.”

Oberyn nods, “That would definitely make things move a bit faster.”

“I don’t know if we’ll find them,” Aegon says thoughtfully, “but we can at least try.”

 

* * *

 

**Bran**

“Did you feel it?” Leaf says, stepping closer to Bran, “did you feel the magic?”

“I did,” Bran nods, “What was that?”

“The little fool,” Leaf chides softly, “You cannot take the skin of an animal being used by another already.”

“So…that was Sansa?” Bran blinks up at Leaf, “What happened?”

“Just what I said,” Leaf explains easily.

“No…” Bran groans, Leaf could be so confusing sometimes. “I mean…what happened to her…what skin did she try to take?”

“Direwolf,” Leaf thinks aloud, staring off into the darkness as if she were peering into time itself, “a direwolf as white as snow with eyes as red as blood.”

“Ghost,” Bran pipes up quickly, recognizing the description. “She must have found Ghost….wait…what do you mean she tried to warg into an animal whose skin was being used by another?”

“Just exactly as I said,” Leaf tells him, “Another was already holding Ghost’s mind.”

“Who?” Bran says, “Was it Jon?”

“I don’t know,” Leaf admits, “I can say that trying to take the skin from another is like head-butting someone in the face.”

Bran grimaces, “If it was Jon he won’t be pleased when he wakes up.”

“If they wake up,” Leaf frowns worriedly, “These kinds of accidents are tricky. She might wake up with this Jon you speak of still part of her…or she might wake up in the direwolf.”

“How do we separate them?” Bran says, motioning for Hodor to pick up him, “If they’re connected?”

“It is similar to what happens when warging with dragons,” Leaf says, following Hodor down the dark cavernous halls, “The dragon has a powerful will and will not yield easily to one who tries to take its skin. Sometimes the dragon will over power the warg and steal _their_ skin instead.”

“So you telling me it all depends on who’s got a stronger will?” Bran says, not liking this any better. The idea of his brother waking in his sister’s body was admittedly funny, but what then became of his sister? Would she be inside Ghost? Or would she wake up in Jon’s body? Magic was funny like that…it shouldn’t be meddled with.

“No,” Leaf says, “It will be something similar mayhaps….there isn’t any telling until they wake up.”

 

* * *

 

**Sansa**

 

It’s a funny sort of sound she hears. Like little bells tinkering in the afternoon light, there is someone beautiful seated beside her bed. At first her tongue is thick in her mouth and she can’t speak, she can’t even raise up her hand. Images dance behind her eyes, a pretty young woman with fire in her hair, smiling at her but she can’t make out what the woman says. The crows on the wall, pacing in the icy wind as they guard the night atop the wall. Shoveling rock onto the icy walkways, a wildling king, a great battle, a red priestess, a false king, her brothers weeping as they circle her, knives drawn in the dark as they rip and slash and tear until she’s screaming and choking on her own blood….

She gasps, her blue eyes snapping open as if from a terrible nightmare. The beautiful woman beside her cries out for a name she doesn’t recognize. Who was _Oberyn_? Where was she? What time was it? She watches the woman, dark curls trailing down her back as she rushes for the door, calling down the stairwell near the top of her voice. A man bursts through the door followed by a silver haired woman. She was so beautiful…it hurt to look at her. She reminded Sansa of the Princesses from the stories she used to read. Beside her stood the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, all silver hair and lilac eyes like the woman beside him.

Surely this man must be her knight….she must be dreaming…she must be in a song.

The other man was older, obsidian eyes and dark copper skin. His hair was glossy and as black as pitch save for streaks of silver threaded through it. He takes her hands and kisses her knuckles, murmuring softly to her soft words of love. She blinks up at him as he speaks to her; she isn’t honestly sure who he is right now….

“I’m…I’m sorry…” she says wearily, “Forgive me my lord…but I do not believe we have met…” Sansa winces when she tries to sit up, her arms tremble beneath her as she tries to hold up her weight. They give out and she collapses back on to the bed, completely oblivious to the stunned and troubled expressions on each of her visitor’s faces.

“She doesn’t know who we are…” Ellaria whispers softly, staring at Sansa with worry and fear, “Oberyn…something is _wrong_ …we need to find a healer…summon Maester Caelotte!”

“Oberyn…Oberyn…. _Martell_ …” Sansa rolls the words over her tongue as realization glitters in her eyes, “The…your…you’re _the Red Viper_!” she blurts out suddenly as it dawns on her, eyes as wide a saucers, “Oh my…forgive me for my outburst…” she quickly adds, “that was terrible rude your grace.” She looks as fearful as if she’d been caught by her septa playing with a wooden sword.  She hoped he wouldn’t be offended, but it would be difficult not to be offended after that display….

He laughs.

He laughs and she’s totally confused. “We’ll at least you remember that much my flower,” he tells her softly, brushing a stray red curl away from her face, “Send for Maester Caelotte Ellaria….he must see to this.” Sansa doesn’t miss the strain of lines across his face, the worry glittering in his eyes though he smiles at her. That smile never reaches his eyes; she can tell he’s just trying to calm her nerves.

“Not any of us…” Aegon says quietly, staring down at Sansa, “My lady…you do not…know me?”

“Forgive me,” Sansa says softly as she gazes over at him, “Have we met as well?”

“Indeed,” Aegon says softly, “I am Prince Aegon.”

“Your grace,” Sansa nods politely, she would curtsey if she had the strength for it, “It is a pleasure.”

 

               Maester Caelotte assesses the damage with deep worry etched across his face. When it was over he explains that memory loss may be permanent or it may be temporary, he honestly had no idea. Oberyn spent the majority of the afternoon explaining everything to Sansa, and by the end she isn’t entirely sure what to think.  The last thing she remembers is leaving her Father’s home for Kings Landing. She doesn’t remember a thing afterwards, and she is shocked to discover she was no longer sixteen but _nineteen_. Joffrey was dead, she was married to Oberyn Martell, they were living at Dragonstone and the whole of Westeros was at war. The harder parts, the parts Oberyn hesitated to tell her were about her parents and her brother. He decided to tell her that later, it would be too much to hear all at once.

               She’d been asleep for days and days. Long enough that Oberyn’s paramour Ellaria sailed from Dorne to see her. Now she spends her time in the hold’s library, hiding behind books to avoid her so called husband. She doesn’t know this man, but he swears to be her lawfully wedded husband, and she a Princess of Dorne. Ellaria testified to the same, as well as Daenerys Targaryen and her nephew Prince Aegon.  She wasn’t sure what to make of the dragon queen and her nephew. Her nephew was sweet to her; he brought her lemon cakes and blue water lilies the same color as her eyes. He said they were few and far between these days as winter was setting in, but he managed to procure one for her.

               Jon’s direwolf Ghost followed her everywhere, and he was as restless as ever. When she asked why Ghost was here Oberyn had no answer for it, and said it was better left unsaid.  Ghost kept close to her, and slept at the foot of her bed every night.

“That wolf is attached,” Ellaria observes quietly over dinner one evening as she watches the pale direwolf curl up on the floor near Sansa’s feet. She doesn’t like wolves, and this one in particular made her very nervous. There was something strange about him, something like awareness. It was almost like he understood what they were talking about.

“He’s just lonely,” Sansa says quietly, never daring to look her husband in the eye from across the table. She took her meals with him each night as duty demanded of her; he sat at the opposite end of the table while his paramour sat between them.  Sansa wasn’t entirely sure what to make of his paramour. She disliked the idea of her husband having a lover as well as a wife.

She disliked the very idea of being married to the red viper.

She went from setting out for Kings Landing to be Queen of Westeros to being a Princess of Dorne in little under fives minutes. Years of her life were missing; years that Oberyn assured her would make sense once she got them back.  He loved her, that much she _could_ tell. He loved her passionately, and she wondered silently if she had loved _him_ just as much. 

 

* * *

 

**Oberyn**

 

It bothered him that she wouldn’t look him in the eye.  She shied away from his touch, she preferred her own bed chambers to his.  She had every right to sleep in her own chambers, he would never force her to do anything she didn’t feel comfortable with. He understood that she didn’t remember him, or anything that ever happened between them.  It doesn’t mean that it didn’t hurt though. That it didn’t break his heart a little every time she’d all but jump out of her skin whenever he tried to hold her hand, or kiss the tender skin at the center of her palm. She was so skittish around him, and he had to constantly remind himself that she didn’t know who he was.

               Ellaria was no better; it distressed her to see Sansa so flighty around her.  Sansa trusted her more, but she was still very stiff and formal with his paramour. He had a feeling that Sansa was almost _offended_ by Ellaria’s presence… maybe even jealous, maybe even resentful. He knew she had background history with this sort of thing, considering everything that happened between her parents. He had explained to her already that Jon wasn’t Eddard Stark’s child at all, and when he thought it would resolve problems between Sansa and Ellaria it seemed to make them worse. If anything Sansa distanced herself even more.

               He was a patient man though, he would be careful with her. It has been weeks since she awoke and weeks since he’s held her in his arms or kissed her soft lips. Weeks since he was even so much as allowed to hold her hand. Sansa was a lady though, dutiful and proper. She never denied him outright; it was in her body language. He disliked that she couldn’t be open with him about how she felt; he didn’t like how she wouldn’t just _talk_ to him about it all.  It was as if they were back to square one and he’d have to earn her trust and her love all over again.

               When she asked if she could write to her Father just as the table was being cleared, Ellaria nearly dropped her wine glass. This moment had come, a moment he’d dreaded for weeks now ice floods his veins. He didn’t want to tell her, he didn’t want to break her heart like this.  When he sits closer to her, catching her hands in his and tells her the truth it breaks her. She is so broken she lets him hold her, if only for the want of someone to hold her at all. She sobs against his shoulder and she is determined in her denial of it, demanding evidence…demanding _proof_.

               Ghost is growling at him and he scowls at the beast but guilt eats him alive.  He carries her bridal style back to her bed chambers, sits with her till she finally falls asleep. It is the first time he’s allowed to hold her till the morning light comes, her head pillowed against his shoulder and her body leaning against his. In the morning she is no better and insists she wear black.  She is in mourning, a mourning she’d never been allowed when she lived in Kings Landing.

               He leaves her to her prayers in the small sept built into the hold. She lights candles and holds vigil for her parents and siblings. He watches her for moment and thinks about the prisoner beneath their feet, deep in the dark of the dungeons. Jon Snow was chained down there, but that wasn’t Jon Snow. They’d checked on him after the incident, and he’d been knocked out cold too. Only when he woke up he was still Rhaegar... Rhaegar with a massive headache and fury boiling his blood. He demanded to know what they’d done to Sansa; he could feel her agony as sharply as his own.

He walks through the snow drifts with Ellaria arm in arm, Ghost trailing along behind them. The wolf has been adamant about following him today; it was like he was doing it on purpose. He stands at the shore and watches the sea while Ellaria scours the shoreline for sea shells. She freezes for a moment and he notices it out of the corner of his eye and turns to look as well. The wolf had a stick in its mouth, dragging it through the snow as it turned this way and that.

“What is that wolf doing?” Ellaria says curiously, walking towards Oberyn with a handful of seashells.

“I don’t know…” he frowns, stepping closer to look. What he sees makes him stagger, and when his gaze meets the blood red eyes of the direwolf he knows what’s going on. There in the snow in blurry letters is one word.

 _Jon_.

 


	44. Chapter Forty-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa gets tricked, Oberyn Panics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

There is confusion at first. The direwolf called Jon followed his sister’s prince back up to Dragonstone. They call a meeting, Oberyn explains the situation to Daenerys who then examines her supposed nephew. Her nephew the direwolf….

“Can he communicate with us?” Daenerys asks wearily, “does he know what we’re saying?”

The direwolf bobs his head in response and Daenerys smiles, “It’s nice to meet you at last nephew. Mind you…when I imagined our meeting for the first time I imagined you to be in a different form.  I think you have many questions…all which will have to wait until we can sort this mess out. How did he end up in the direwolf again?” Daenerys asks expectantly, looking over at Oberyn.

 “The whole disaster with Sansa,” Oberyn says quietly, “Surely there must be a way to put the boy back into his own body.”

“That is the problem you see, Prince Oberyn…” Daenerys says hesitantly, “For it means I must decide my brother’s fate.”

“Not so,” says another voice, a red haired woman standing in the doorway of the great hall. “I said I would come and I have. I can switch them back.”

“And who are you?” Daenerys says, sitting back upon her throne. She takes in the newcomer; her garb is all in deep shades of red the same color as her hair.

“I am Milisandre of Asshai,” she says to them all, “and I have come as requested by the Lady Sansa to restore her brother. If it can be done I shall do it.”

 

* * *

 

**Sansa**

 

The evening is beautiful. She has wandered these castle halls so many times now.  The voices are all the same and yet tonight it is different. Tonight she hears a soft voice from the darkness of the dungeons, a voice that pleads for water…for light…for air. She is hesitant at first, frightened to go down there. Finally she gives into temptation and the compassion of her heart wins out. She gathers the myrish lace and sand silk of her skirts, a swirl of Martell colors with shimmering gold suns and spears before sneaking down into the depths of the dungeons.

At the bottom of the steps she hears the voice, a ragged face dimly lit by torch light flickers in shadows as she peers through the cell door where the voice comes from.

“Who goes there?” she says softly, stepping closer towards the door.

“Princess,” the voice says softly, “I beg you…water….”

“How do you know me?” Sansa says in surprise, peering at the veiled face in the shadows.

“I am your cousin, sweet Princess….it’s me Sansa, it’s Jon,” he says as he leans forward into the torchlight so she might see his face.

She gives a cry of alarm and hurries to unlock the door, fretting over her broken brother. They’ve kept him locked up down here all this time? They were awful, horrid people just like Joffrey! That husband of her’s is a liar too, he _promised_ her…he promised and he seemed so _sincere_. He’s a liar, just like Joffrey…all of them were monsters….

Bitter sorrow and hate welled up in her throat as she fed him some water. “Sansa…we must get out of here,” he says with a throat sore from disuse. “Sansa…unchain me…find the keys and mind the guards. Be quick… _hurry_!”

Quick as a wolf and as quiet as a mouse she stole the keys, and unchained her brother. He wasn’t really her brother though, that much she knew. He was her cousin apparently, but still she saw her brother when she looked into his face and helped him to his feet. He was shaky on his feet at first, but found a strength in him that one wouldn’t realize was there at first. They hurried through the dark dungeon corridors, Sansa’s heart beating furiously in her chest. If they were caught they’d kill her and her brother most likely. These people were insane, and they were horrible liars too. They talked of sweetness and kind gestures, they spoke of family and honor and duty and yet Oberyn had lied to her, lied about _all_ of it. If she could she’d strip off her gown and toss it into the mud but she feared to run about in her small clothes far too much to do so.

“Jon I’m so _scared_ …” she whispered softly, “They’ll catch us.”

“No they won’t sweet cousin,” he murmurs softly, reassuringly, “I’ll keep you safe.”

 

               Somehow miraculously they made it clear out to the stables. Jon had to knock a few of the guards out to get there, but they made it nonetheless. He was surprisingly strong for someone who appeared weak and worn.

“I hope you can ride better than you used too,” Jon says with a smirk as he saddles a horse.

“I can,” Sansa narrows her eyes at him but smiles a little, “Jon….I’m so sorry….for everything. I was so cruel to you.”

“Let the past lie Sansa,” he tells her softly, “Let it lie and we shall be even. Now…” he says as he gathers her up in his arms and helps her up onto the horse, “now we leave this wretched place and find some semblance of safety elsewhere.”

“Jon,” Sansa says as he urges the horse forward, Sansa’s arms curling around his waist to hang on, “We could go home?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “that’s the first place they’d look. I cannot risk that snake stealing you away from me, I failed you so many times now…I won’t fail you again.”

Sansa’s heart feels lighter for his words and smiles against his shoulder as they rode off into the night, flying down the dirt paths with a quickness that stole the very breath from her. Jon was never such a good rider as she could recall, but he was a magnificent one now.

“Fear not Princess,” Jon says softly as he catches her hand in one of his and brushes a kiss over the knuckles, “I will keep you safe.”

His words though soothingly leave an uneasy feeling in her, as if there was something she’d forgotten but could not recall. There was something eerie about him, something that was very un-Jon like in his mannerisms. He had changed so much over the years; it was like she didn’t know him at all.

 

* * *

 

**Oberyn**

 

They hardly make it to the dungeons before the guards alert them of the escape. He was gone, and he’d taken Sansa with him. Poor helpless Sansa, his sweet wife who was riding away with a madman completely unawares. He knew she probably thought him her brother, and now most likely thought he was a liar and a murderer like so many other’s she’d faced over the years. She couldn’t remember everything that had been done to her but he’d told her enough to know that Joffrey had been a false Prince with no honor.

Now she was riding off with the man who’d caused the realm it’s misfortune.

He had to find her…..soon.

 

 

* * *

 

 A/N: Super short chapter but I'm currently in the middle of essays and exam's this week. So what did you all think of Rhaegar? He's getting a little creepy now, and he gets worse in the following chapters. Thanks for reading!!!!

 

 


	45. Chapter Forty-Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaegar likes history and Oberyn argues with a wolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Sansa**

 

It was cold where they camped, but then again it was cold _everywhere_. Jon was busy building the fire and Sansa set about trying to sort out their rations.  Jon was quiet and pensive, something he did a lot back home. He was _brooding_ , as Arya once called it.  He brooded a lot to; he always had a flair for the dramatics she thinks with a small smile to herself.

Once he’s roused the fire she sets about roasting bits of meat while he sits on a log and watches her. The horse stirs in the background, the crickets sing in the background and only the wind stirs the branches of the old trees surrounding them. She serves him dinner and then herself, before settling a distance away from him. There was something off about Jon, and she wasn’t sure what that is.

“Jon,” she says softly, staring at her plate, “where are we going?”

“Far away from here,” he tells her quietly, pensively, “I need to get you far away from here.”

“Why?” she asks, tilting her head to the side as she regards him curiously.

“They’ll be looking for us,” he sighs as he finishes up his food, “and their all liars Sansa. You know what they did to you in Kings Landing…and now your trapped with that horrid snake of a man…by the old gods…” he curses under his breath, “how could they have tied you to him?”

“I scarcely remember any of that,” she admits softly, “Jon I hardly remember leaving home….Prince Oberyn... _my lord husband_ ,” she corrects herself quietly, “ told me what happened.”

“He isn’t your lord _anything_ ,” Jon says darkly, “Not when I find a bloody septon and make him annul this horrible mess.”

 _Now_ he sounded like Jon.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, “I was horrible to you all these years and now you’re _stuck_ with me and…”

“No,” Jon cuts her off, “Sansa it’s alright….we were children and it’s in the past now. I’m the Lord of Winterfell now, and it’s my duty to protect you.”

“Actually that would be my title,” Sansa points out, “Oberyn told me he won it all back for me.”

Jon snorts derisively, “Sansa do you even _want_ to be the Lord of Winterfell?”

“Not really,” she mumbles quietly, staring down at her plate. Why would she want to have her Father’s title? She could never imagine herself dolling out the Kings Justice or sitting through those terribly boring meetings in the great hall every month. She wouldn’t mind being the Lady, but not of Winterfell. She had no desire to marry Jon, even if he was technically her cousin and not her brother.

“Well then,” Jon shrugs and jabs at the fire with an old branch, “We’ll sort it out Sansa, don’t worry about it.”

“Everything is just….it’s all just….”

“Gone to shit?” Jon muses allowed grimly, “yeah, I’ve noticed.”

 

* * *

 

**Rhaegar**

 

When the dawn creeps over the horizon he wakes her and they prepare for the day. He has to play this differently now. She was becoming suspicious just as she did before. He would have to try his best to play it down now. Act like Jon, and that was a lot harder then it appeared. He was very…rough….and uncultured and it was distasteful to him. He was raised to be a King one day, and his every mannerism screams out insult and outrage at his own behavior towards Sansa as of late. That behavior is only defined by the fact that he must in fact, convince her that he is Jon and there isn’t anything to be suspicious of.

He’ll never get her to safety if she realizes he isn’t.

They ride for what feels like hours and hours, both they’re backsides sore and aching  from his insistence that they put as much distance between them and Dragonstone as possible. He had half a mind to cart her off to Essos, but he knew the Martell’s would find them there.

“Tell me a story,” Sansa says to break the silence, their bodies sway in sync as the horse takes a steady gait down the worn dirt path, seeded heavily with weeds and rock.

“I’ve told you all the stories I know I think,” he muses allowed to her with a smile.

“Tell me the one about the princess and the dragon again,” she urges. He can feel how tired she is, she’s trying desperately not to lean against him in her exhaustion.

“Once, when the world was young and the Kings of old still lived…”

“Back in the age of heroes,” Sansa prompts with a smile.

“ _Back in the age of heroes_ ,” he grins against her hair and continues, “There ruled an elderly king who had many sons and daughters. His most beloved daughter, Princess Rhaenyra was the jewel of the kingdom. She had hair like spun moonlight and eyes like amethysts. She was the blood of the dragon, and her blood called to another dragon.”

“I love the name Rhaenyra,” Sansa muses allowed, “I would name my daughter that, should I ever bear one I think. Rhaenyra is also the name of Prince Baelor’s sister.”

“She’s also our relative,” he points out, “I think she was the daughter of….” He ponders for a moment, “Aemma Arryn I think it was?”

“Yep,” Sansa grins with a nod, “I’m impressed…you _were_ paying attention to the Maester.”

“Maester Aemon was very knowledgeable as well,” he shrugs lightly, “anyways….where was I…oh right….anyhow her blood called to another dragon…and one day it came down from the mountains and scooped her up, carrying her off into the sky.”

“Targaryens have a nasty habit of doing that,” Sansa mutters darkly, wrinkling her nose as her mind drifts.

“How do you mean?” he starts to ask and then pauses as everything clicks into place, “Oh…yes…well…my Father wasn’t a _real_ dragon. He was…”

“I know,” Sansa cuts him off, shaking her head, “Please…go on…”

“The dragon carried her away into the sky, to the old dragon fortress high in the dornish plains. It was an old broken down place, nothing left from the days of old save stone walls and an iron gate. The place was dangerous though…old and damp. She was trapped there with the dragon that wouldn’t let her leave. She wandered each night under the moonlight while it slept below, and to sooth the dragon she would sing to it the old songs of Valyria.”

Sansa wrinkled her nose in distaste. He wondered what was going through her head at that moment until she said “Why on earth would she sing to the dragon? It’s a wonder the beast didn’t eat her.”

  
“It’s a _story_ Sansa,” he frowns down at her, she used to love the stories, but now it seemed like she was tired of them.  When she didn’t comment he continued, “One day…the dragon became a man and appeared before her under the moonlight. He called himself Zail, and up until that moment he’d been afraid to approach the princess. The fortress was his, it used to be a mighty fortress for the dragon people. Only dragon lords could change form and become human.  He was the last of his line, as his family perished in the doom.”

“I thought all the Targaryens came here with Aegon the Conqueror?”

“They came here before the doom, but his Father ruled at Dragonstone long before Aegon decided to conquer anything. Anyhow…his ancestor, Rhaenyra was caught up by the dragon and through her union with the dragon lord the blood of the dragon was born in the Targaryen family once more.”

“You’re telling me that the Targaryen’s _actually_ mated with dragons?” Sansa says incredulously, “I hardly believe that.”

“Well where do you think we acquired our immunity to fire?” he muses with a smile she couldn’t see.

“Your about as immune to fire as I am Jon,” she rolls her eyes, “Targaryens burn just like anyone else.”

“Anyhow,” he continues while ignoring her comment, “Her Father sent an army to retrieve her, and when they discovered that the dragon had befouled her, he swore vengeance.  She was heavy with child when they came, and they waited for the dragon to become human before they shot a gold tipped arrow beyond the walls, striking the princess dead. They slew him after, and he swore before he died their family and all those who aided them would perish for their cruelty and hatred. Dragon magic is powerful Sansa…..a curse like that…it’s deadly. They burned his corpse along with the princess and their unborn child. The fortress was destroyed in the process too.”

“The ending is always awful,” Sansa grimaces quietly.

“It is but it isn’t,” Jon points out as they sway on the horse, climbing steadily up the grassy plain, “The four families who aided the Targaryens to destroy them were Lannister, Stark, Arryn and Tyrell.”

“Three out of four,” Sansa grouses, “some curse.”

“Never fear,” he smiles near her ear and he gazes out over the horizon, “we still have time.”

“We’ve been travelling for days now,” Sansa moans quietly, tiredly.

“I know,” he says, curious about her abrupt change in topic. “Were here though…it’s just up over that ridge.”

               They dismount at the topic of the ridge and walk hand in hand up to the old ruins of a palace. It was covered in flowers of every color, covering every stone surface they could see.  He lets her explore while he sets up came inside the old palace, building a fire in an old fire place.

“Sansa,” he calls, searching for her. He knew this place like the back of his hand, and isn’t surprised to find her in the old garden.

“I’m here!” she calls, smiling at him from behind an old rose bush. It was littered with weeds and dead vines, there were roses still growing wild and untamed within its branches.

“So,” he tells her, pulls off his black gloves, “have you figured out where we are yet?”

“No,” Sansa says walking around the overrun bushes, examining every different kind of flower she could think of. “Where?”

“Summerhall,” he smiles faintly, “I figured the last place in Westeros they would search for us is at a place that my Dad loved to visit….as you know I’m not overly fond of my Father at the moment.”

“Mmm,” Sansa says with a nod, “The old palace will make good cover for the snow…I think a storm is coming in. It’s a shame really…these flowers are so pretty and the snow will be here soon too.”

“Summerhall,” he says as he follows her back inside, “belonged to the Targaryens before it was burned down the night my Father was born.”

“I think,” Sansa says tiredly, “I need to eat something before we continue the history lessons.”

* * *

 

**Sansa**

 

               The wind howls through the halls of the old palace. It would actually be a really nice place to camp if it weren’t for the horrible storm coming in. Jon was sleeping like a rock under a pile of furs across from her. She was curled near the fireplace trying to keep warm, lying on her back to stare up at the stars through the cracks in the ceiling. This place gave her the creeps; it was a place of death and sorrow. Earlier Jon had told her something that made the unease in her stomach worse though she never gave any indication of it. He seemed to earnest about it, so excited about the old history of the place. It used to be where the old dragon fortress had been, or so he claimed.

               She didn’t believe a single word of the old stories, but he seemed too. He seemed to believe the fire began because it was Zail’s curse being triggered with the birth of his father. How it was Rhaegar who triggered the curse, she’ll never know but apparently that’s what Jon believed.

“You were never this fanciful when we were younger,” Sansa muses allowed quietly, “who _are_ you?”

“You’d never believe me,” Jon muses with a sleepy smile, rolling over to look at her. She is shocked to find him awake, she never meant for him to hear that, she’d thought him asleep.

“Why is that?” Sansa asks, rolling onto her side to look at him.

“Because,” he smiles faintly, “when you needed a prince to save you he failed…nobody came to save you.” He pauses for a moment, “I failed to save you,” he adds with a frown, “but I won’t fail again.”

 

* * *

 

**Oberyn**

 

The wolf paces nervously, and it’s making him nervous.  It glares at him and he glares right back. “ _I_ wasn’t the one licking my balls while your sister was running off with a madman,” Oberyn snarls at the beast.

The wolf growls, Daenerys glares at both of them from across the room, “there isn’t any sense in arguing with him Prince Oberyn.”

“I know that,” he says sourly, glaring at the white direwolf.

“And I don’t think he was out licking his…balls….while your wife was being kidnapped. We can’t sit here and point fingers; we need to find them, now.”

“I agree,” Ellaria agrees, “Who knows what that sick fuck is doing with Sansa.”

“Ellaria,” Oberyn warns quietly.

“That _sick fuck_ is my brother Lady Ellaria,” Daenerys scowls, “however twisted his mind is, he is still my brother and I will not tolerate anyone slandering him in my court….if anyone is going to have words for him it will be _me_.”

“I am no lady,” Ellaria mutters darkly and leaves the room, scowling darkly at Oberyn as she goes. The tension between them was palatable. Ellaria was beside herself knowing Sansa was out there on her own with a madman, and they were all sitting around with their _thumbs up their asses_ as she so eloquently put it.

“What say you, Milisandre?” Daenerys says, glancing at the red witch.

“I cannot undo what’s been done until you bring him back here,” she shrugs faintly, “and there is something….unsettling about this. The fire god tells me many things…but he keeps showing me one thing specifically.”

“Like what?” Daenerys asks, not altogether believing in this woman’s mad visions in the fire.

“A dragon….a great green dragon.”

 


	46. Chapter Forty-Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaegar and Sansa have a routine, a nasty scare, and winter really is coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game Of Thrones.

**Sansa (POV)**

 

I keep dreaming.

I dream of strange things, mostly my days in Kings Landing. There was a man with a burned face, his skin twisted and gnarled as he laughed and laughed at me. He told me a story once, a story about a boy and his brother. Then there was another moment, fired burned like fireworks outside my window, glittering like burning diamonds on the cream walls of my bed chambers. He leaned over me, breath heavy with the stench of wine. I dreamt that he kissed me, but I don’t think he really did.

“Sansa,” I hear his voice again, my brothers voice. I wake to the faint light of dawn on my face and my dark haired, dark eyed brother sitting next to me. He smiles down at me, nodding towards the fire place. “I’ve caught breakfast.”

“What did you catch?” I ask curiously, pushing the heavy furs off of me. I am stiff and sore, rubbing my back achingly as Jon hands me a plate. He’s caught us fish, and if I’m correct I think those are eggs beside them freshly roasted salmon.

Eggs and salmon…

He certainly has no finesse in the kitchen but at least its food. I’m absolutely starving and grateful as I gobble it down greedily, forgoing my manners because it’s just my brother and I don’t really care about my manners right now. He grins watching me, and then moves to clear his own plate as well. He must have been as hungry as I was, because he eats just as greedily.

               When we finish I climb down over the rocks and find the stream from where I assume he caught the fish. I use to wash up and afterwards when I’m certain my clothes are in order and my hair is combed out to the best I can do with my fingers, I climb back up to the ruins of the palace. Jon is cleaning his sword, and I decide to explore. This place is so old, it echoes history. Walking these halls I wondered what it was like to be a Targaryen, to live in this old palace, spirited away from the rest of Westeros like deities on a mountainside.  The view is breathtaking, standing on the old broken balcony that is riddled with dead vines and wild flora.

               I could wander in these ruins for ages I think. It makes me think of the old stories I used to read, the songs of old that I loved so much. This place was a fairy tale come to life, all that was needed was a dragon and a prince. Jon finds me on the balcony hours later, and I’m humming this tune I remember hearing, it was so lovely and sad and it echoed in my dreams like a lover calling out to me.

“Where did you hear that?” he asks, looking bewildered and if I’m not wrong, mildly concerned. It’s only a flash of worry but he masks it quickly.

“I dreamt it,” I tell him serenely, my eyes closed as I sit on the edge of the stone railing and listen to the birds in the eaves above us. “It’s beautiful isn’t it? It’s so beautiful…” I murmur distractedly, unaware of how close Jon has gotten to me in the space of a moment.

“I think I dreamt it once too,” he says idly, “a melody like that could only be created in dreams.”

“So what shall we do today?” I ask curiously, tilting my head to look at him. He looks so relaxed here, so calm.

“Nothing much,” he shrugs, “I figure we hide here for a while. They’ll never find us here.”

“Well if were going to stay here a while I should probably cook,” I grin wryly at him.

“Are you displeased with my rustic cooking my lady?” he smirks faintly at me.

“Eggs and salmon…it’s an interesting mix but I’m grateful none the less….I was so hungry I was ready trying hunting myself.”

He nods solemnly, “Me too…however I think I’ll go out hunting some more. We need to stock up for the winter. It’s getting closer,” he frowns as he gazes off into the distance, “the snow will be here soon. I need to gather as much fish and meat I can. We’ll need the snow to store it though; perhaps we can gather it into something and bury the food in it. Should help it keep longer I think.”

I nod slowly, “I’m not much for hard labor Jon…but I can help…”

He shakes his head, waving me off, “No it’s fine…you stay here where it’s safe.”

 

He is gone all day, and I’m bored out of my mind. I’ve started making flower chains and weaving them into my hair, picking idly at the petals.  When he returns I sit up from my place by the fire. I made a fire today, if I had a journal I’d write that down. I was so pleased with myself; because I’ve never been much good at any kind of labor save for the ones taught to me by my mother and septa.  Jon looks at the fire and then at me, covered in soot with flowers weaved into my hair. At first I think he’s going to laugh at me, tease me even for my efforts.  Then he smiles and tugs at a lock of my auburn hair, eyeing the petals that adorn my hair.

“You look lovely. Like a proper princess,” he grins at me, and drops his weapons down near the fire along with the food he’s managed to catch today.

I grin back at him, “I was so bored…and the flowers are so pretty here. It’s a shame to think it’ll all fall to ruin when the snow gets here.”

“Look at you,” he smiles, tilting his head to one side before he glances at the fire and then back at me, “you did this?”

“Yes,” I nod earnestly, “I was cold and you weren’t back yet. I really tried Jon…I hope it’s alright….I’m rubbish at making fires but…”

“It’s good,” he nods, “It’s very good…thank you….you should probably go clean up though. I hardly think you’ll want soot rubbed into your sleeping furs.”

I nod and get to my feet, grabbing the bucket we use to fetch water before heading down to the stream. I hear him warn me not to go very far, to stay within sight of camp as I climb down over the rocks. I fill the bucket and set it aside before washing up. Tomorrow I would have to wash this dress, and the thought of it was displeasing. I didn’t really fancy the idea of running about in my small clothes with Jon nearby. I wondered if I maybe brought the water up and a few stones I could scrub them clean in one of the old rooms?

               I set about gathering what I need, until I hear Jon clambering down over the rocks with a blazing look in his eyes. I am startled by his anger, and realize I’ve strayed far from camp in my search for what I need.

“Jon…I’m sorry…” I begin but his sharp voice cuts me off.

“Where are you going?” he snaps coldly, catching me by the wrist and tugging me back towards him not unkindly. He isn’t rough with me but he could be a little gentler.

“I was just going to bring some things up to camp so I can wash my gown tomorrow…I didn’t want to do that down here with you here…I mean…I have to…”

“I understand what that entails Sansa,” he says with a scowl, “I told you not to stray from camp. If you get into trouble and scream I may not hear you when you’ve gone out to far.”

“I’m _sorry_ …” I trail off, blinking at Jon in the darkness. He’s gone stiff and his grip on my arm has tightened.

“Jon…what’s wrong?” I frown, trying to pull free from his grip but with no success. “Jon?”

“Sansa?” he whispers, his breathing heavy and strained, “Sansa…where are we, right now?”

“I….what?” I blink at him, “Jon your scaring me.”

“Sansa quickplease, _tell me where we are_!” he grinds out, nearly shouting at me in a panic.

“The Summer Palace!” I shout at him angrily, confused and infuriated by his odd behavior, “Jon you’re hurting me.”

“Sansa run…get away from me…I’m not who you think I am…” he cuts off with a wail of pain and I jerk free, tumbling backwards onto the muddy earth beneath me.

Jon is panting heavily, towering over me. His shoulders relax and his stance changes. Suddenly he’s on his knees before me, pulling me into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

“Jon,” I protest as he swings me up into his arms, “Jon you’re scaring me.”

“I didn’t mean to knock you over like that, are you hurt?” he asks quickly as he climbs back up towards camp. The bucket and the stones are completely forgotten by the shoreline of the stream below.

“No,” I tell him as he sets me down by the fire, searching me for injuries. His fingers are gentle and skilled, and when he’s satisfied that I’m unhurt he sits down across from me. “You’ll need clothes,” he says, noting my mud splattered gown. “Hang on…” he says and digs in his pack, pulling out a rough spun tunic and a pair of breeches. “It’s not much…but it’s better than sleeping in muddy clothes.”

I take the clothes and go into one of the many rooms to change. I emerge in men’s clothing save for my breast wraps beneath the tunic. I feel awkward and uncomfortable like this. Thankfully Jon is slim but strong in stature, and I managed to tie the breeches tightly enough that they hang off my hips. He can’t see that thankfully, the tunic hangs clear down to my knees. I will have to wash my gown and small clothes tomorrow, and now I have clothes to do that in.

“You look lovely,” he says and I give him a sour look before sitting down before the fire. I do not look lovely, not even in the slightest. I start to pull the flowers from my hair because I must look odd with flowers in my hair in men’s clothing but he stills my hands. “Leave them,” he urges me, “they look beautiful in your hair.”

I am dumbstruck by his response, and I don’t know what to say. I leave them in and gaze at the flames in the hearth. He roasts fish for us, and I help him rub herbs and spices into the meat so that it at least tastes less like fish and more like food.  The night drags on, and I nod off beside the fire to the sound of Jon’s voice as he tells me another story, one I’ve probably heard a thousand times but never get tired of.

It’s remarkable how a fourteen year old boy can go away to live on the wall and come back a well versed poet.

I wake later and I’m not sure what’s woken me. It’s cold, icy cold for some reason. I shiver and pull the furs tighter over me, realizing he must have thrown them over me before he went to sleep. I realize Jon is gone, and I sit up and squint into the darkness as I look for him. The fire has all but burned down to nothing but embers, and I shiver again, rubbing my arms to warm me up. Finally a dare to get to my feet, wrapping the furs around me as I wander barefoot through the old ruins, looking for Jon.

I find him in the old garden and his back is to me. When I reach for him he’s icy cold to the touch. It frightens me, but I tap his shoulder lightly, “Jon….what are you doing out here?”

He turns to face me and I startle, a cry of alarm leaping from my lips. His eyes are cold, bluer then the summer sea frozen over in ice.  He stares at me, and reaches out, and a horrible sound gurgles deep in his throat like a high pitched hiss, like nails scraping against metal. I leap back and stumble away from him, gazing in horror as his hand catches the wall beside me, veins of ice leaping across it from the point where his hand connected with it.

“What….” I stare in horror and dive away from him, running like a madwoman through the old ruins for the camp. I needed Jon’s sword; I needed to get away from him. Something was horribly wrong with him, and whatever has done this to him might still be around.

I don’t even hear him walking, he’s so light footed. I dart away from the hearth, heaving long claw with me. I am cold and very, very scared as I run through the ruins, hiding in dark corner with long claw gripped between my hands. I don’t know how long I stay there, I don’t know how long I’m crouched under broken stone and dead plants but when I look up the sun is creeping over the horizon. Then I hear it, Jon’s voice as he calls for me.

“Sansa!” his voice is filled with panic. I creep out from behind my hiding place and peer cautiously around the corner, watching him search the campsite frantically. He’s getting angry, tossing our packs around as he screams out my name.

“Jon,” I whisper nervously, and he whirls around to face me, looking as if he meant to rip into me until he see’s the fear on my face. I look small and scared with long claw in my hands.

“Sansa,” he says cautiously, easing towards me slowly, “what are you doing with my sword? Why were you hiding from me?”

“You….I saw you…you were freezing things with your hands….you were all ice….and I was so scared….”

“Sansa…I woke up in my bed and you were gone,” he says softly, easing towards me as if trying to calm a frightened animal, “and my sword was gone.”

“You’ve been acting weird all night!” I shout at him, tears brimming in my eyes. I just want to go home, I just want my family back. I just want this nightmare to end and wake up in my warm bed, my feather bed, back in Winterfell. I don’t want my brother turning into an ice monster, or to be hiding in old ruins like we were criminals on the run. “You were freezing everything…and then before that you were screaming at me about where we were…and you were acting mad Jon…you were frightening me!”

“I did _what_?” he asks too calmly, his face serious and hard, “what did I ask you Sansa?”

“You wanted to know where we were…” I frown at him, “and then you were just standing out there in the moonlight…and you had ice in your eyes and your hands…”

“Sansa, give me my sword and come back to camp,” he says flatly, brooking no argument. He extends his hand out to me, silently demanding his weapon.

I ease forward and give him back his sword like a naughty child being scolded by my Father. I stare at my bare feet as he stomps off back to camp and I follow him wordlessly. We eat breakfast and he broods silently beside me. I sneak glances at him, and he’s glaring into the flames of the hearth.

“Are you mad at me?” I ask softly, nervously.

“No,” he says quietly, “I’m just worried.”

“About?” I ask tentatively, curiously.

“I want to keep you safe…and I’m worried maybe we should move on,” he scowls at the flames as he says this, looking thoroughly displeased.

“I love it here,” I say earnestly, “Jon we won’t find any better shelter for miles. If that storm hits and were out in the middle of nowhere…”

“I know,” he grumbles, “and that’s why I’m afraid to leave.”

“We’ll be fine here,” I reassure him gently, “they won’t be able to reach us here anyways…the storm will make it impossible.”

 

* * *

 

**Sandor**

 

There was a wolf following him.

That fucking wolf has been following him for days now, a big direwolf that one. He recognizes it vaguely, takes him a few minute to recall it.  Finally it clicks as he gazes upon it from his place near the cabin. He was minding his own business, tending to the garden when he saw it, watching him from the trees.

“Go away,” he shoos it, glares at it darkly. He turns away, continuing his work. he hears the wolf whine petulantly at him and he rolls his eyes. He just wants to be left alone; he just wants to finish his work here.

“I _said_ fuck off,” he says pointedly, “Just get away.”

  
               The brothers took him in, patched him up and gave him a new life here. He doesn’t want any trouble, but that damn wolf was determined to bother him. It trots up alongside him, staring up at him with its tongue hanging out of one side of its mouth.

“Nymeria…isn’t it?” he says with a scowl, glaring at the she-wolf.

She follows him while he goes about his chores, and the brothers don’t seem to mind her. He explains it off when they ask, tells them the wolf used to belong to someone he knew and it just happened upon him again. He’s all but given up trying to get rid of her, and she sleeps by the fire place inside his cabin.  He feeds her the scraps from his dinner and lets her chase the birds near the lake. The brothers like her, she guards them and kills the rodents.  He doesn’t understand why she’s here, it bothers him. She should be with her mistress, but he hasn’t seen hide nor hair of Arya Stark is ages, not since the little bitch left him to die on the side of the road.

Finally one evening he is sick of it. He scruffs her fur between her ears and feeds her bits of meat as he looks into the fire. “Why are you here?”

She looks up at him, perking her ears. Finally she turns her gaze to the fire and sets her head on her paws. He nods, looking sour at the response, “yeah…that’s what I thought.”

 

* * *

 

**Rhaegar**

I contemplate telling her the truth.

She is edgy around me these past few days since the night that she won’t talk about. She looked like a cornered wild animal, wielding long claw between her palms as she crept out of that dark corner towards me. Her hair was wild around her face, flowers weaved in her hair. She looked like a child of the forest, big blue eyes wide and cautious, her petal soft lips parted as she drew breath to face me.  Even dressed as she was she was beautiful, my clothes were far too big and baggy on her. It’s taken her a while to relax with me again. Not even my stories will calm her now, and her dreams have turned to nightmares.

               She tells me she dreams of Joffrey and his horrible face as he orders her Father’s execution. The little monster kept her as a plaything for his amusement for three years. I know the background, I learned as much from Oberyn when he thought I was just Jon.  It’s freezing in the mornings now, and I know a blizzard it’s far off. We’ve saved up as much food as we can gather, and I’ve set about trying to insulate our camp sight.

We can’t stay here.

I know we can’t, I know we won’t survive. I want to take her to Essos, somewhere warmer.  I wonder idly where that spider is, he was supposed to be finding Jon for me. I need Jon for this; he above anyone else will believe me when I tell him who I am. Jon knows me; I can prove that I am who I say I am.  I want my damn throne back, and I’m going to need help getting it.  It’s my right anyways, I’m the elder child before Daenerys. I hadn’t really wanted it before, at least not completely. I had more on my mind then the Iron throne and who sat it.  Now I know that I need it, I’m definitely going to need it. I’ve gotten us into a mess, and while I finally have her to myself, safe from that dornish idiot and his paramour I can’t keep running from them forever.

I think Jon is fighting his way out too.

Sansa told me the other night that I’d asked where I was, and I knew where I bloody well was. Jon may not however, which means he briefly managed to regain control of his body and booted me out. I can’t remember any of it, which means I either was thrown out completely or I was in the wolf and was unconscious.

It would be useful to trade places once in a while.

If I could tie myself up and keep Jon from warning Sansa, I could slink around in the wolf and nobody would be the wiser. I could find out what’s happening on their end, I could plan for it.  I find that I have another problem aside from my son being difficult. I feel a strange tugging every now and then. I feel like I’m being ripped from my own body, and I have a feeling that moment Sansa found me in the garden is exactly what happened. She looked so afraid I thought she might actually attack me. The only way I could reason with her was to be stern and commanding, and I successfully managed to get my sword back from her. When she recognized I was back to normal she let her guard down and that’s all I needed.

Right now were eating lunch, and she won’t look at me.  I have a feeling she’s beginning to remember, and if she remember everything I’m going to have to reason with her. I need to make her understand, I need to make her see.  I should tell her before she remembers everything, so that when the memories do return maybe she’ll understand better. I’m not doing any of this to hurt her, I’m not doing any of this to be cruel, I need to do this because it will save Westeros. She wants dragons and castles and heroic princes, and I will give that to her in spades.

Maybe not dragons….I’m not sure I could keep Viserys under control. He was a wild little five year old boy the last time I saw him, and now he’s a wild half-grown dragon.  I would also like to know what the hell happened to him. I want to know who murdered my brother so I can kill them with my bare hands.

“Here,” I offer her the last bit of fish and she waves it off. She is eating less, and this makes me nervous. I can feel her anxiety in waves, and I want to reassure her. “Sansa I’m not going to jump up and attack you in your sleep, if that’s what you think.”

“Then what’s wrong with you?” she asks with a frown, worry in her eyes, “you’ve been acting really strange.”

I debate telling her the truth, rolling it around in my mind, “do you believe in ghosts?”

“What?” she asks incredulously.

“Ghosts…do you believe in them?”

“Yes…no…I don’t know,” she shrugs, “they used to say that we lay swords across the laps of our ancestors to keep their spirits from haunting the halls of Winterfell.”

“Yes,” I nod, “Now…say one of them got loose...then what?”

“You’re not going to tell me you’re one of my ancestors long dead are you?” Sansa asks nervously, edging away from me.

“Not one of _your_ ancestors,” I say cautiously, testing the waters. She stiffens, looks nervous and edges away more.

“I don’t understand,” she says softly, her blue eyes watching me carefully.

“If I were to tell you…that Jon Stark warged into his wolf before he died….and I took his place…here in his body….”

“Stop,” Sansa holds up a hand, “I don’t…I can’t….please Jon I’m so scared as it is…and you’re really starting to frighten me now.”

“My name isn’t Jon,” I sigh, rubbing my face tiredly, “I really am telling you the truth.”

“Please don’t,” she whispers, her gaze on the fire, “I can’t bear it.”

I can see that she’s already sorted this out for herself, but she doesn’t really want to know who I am. I can see that she’s afraid of me, but at the same time she needs my company. I decide to let it lie; I don’t want to ruin the calm in our atmosphere right now. Right now she trusts me enough to sit next to me, and I need to ease her into this if she’s going to accept who I really am.

Maybe when Jon gets here.

 


	47. Chapter Forty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game Of Thrones.

“The boy must _push_ ,” Melisandre tells Oberyn, after the fifth attempt at trying to push Jon back into his body. “He cannot hope to hold onto it if he doesn’t try. I warned you this would be difficult if not impossible.”

“Again,” Oberyn says, motioning towards the tired looking wolf across the room, “you must try again…your sister needs you.”

Milisandre settles into position and closes her eyes, focusing her energy on the wolf. The direwolf whines and shakes his head, his eyes change from red to white and then he collapses.

“Well?” Oberyn frowns, glancing between the wolf and the priestess.

“Oberyn,” Ellaria sighs softly from a chair somewhere behind him, “The boy is exhausted…look at him. Whatever magic that requires him to do what he does…he doesn’t have the strength for it anymore today.”

“She is out there with a madman and I can do nothing to help her because we don’t know where she is!” Oberyn snaps wearily, exhaustion and stress getting the better of him.

“There is something else we can try,” Melisandre suggests as she looks at Daenerys from where she is seated at a table across the room, “but I will need your blood….the blood of kings.”

“Blood magic?” Oberyn frowns at her; he doesn’t particularly like the idea of using _any_ kind of magic.

“Yes,” Melisandre says, “I would need the blood of his blood to track him, Jon Snow or at least his body is the child of Rhaegar Targaryen….I would need Targaryen blood to track him.”

“How?” Daenerys asks, raising her gaze to the woman with fire in her hair.

“The god of fire would show me in the flames,” she tells her, “he would show me where Rhaegar is.”

“Do it,” Daenerys says, proffering her hand. It unsettles her to give up some of her blood, but her brother was out there, and he’d done something horrible. She would lose the loyalty of the Martells if she did not help to return their stolen princess.

She hoped this would work.

 

* * *

 

“The Trident,” Sansa says as she stands on the cliff face, edging closer to the drop off where the stone floor gave way over time and crumbled down into the valley below. The palace used to stretch out much farther over the cliff face, a beautiful veranda used to overlook the valley before it was all destroyed in the fire.

“What?” Rhaegar looks at her with the face of her brother, but his expression did not belong to him. That expression never belonged on Jon’s face and this Sansa knew. She wasn’t sure who he was or why he’d stolen her away from Dragonstone. She’d sorted out that he had in fact stolen her away now, and now she’s beginning to wonder why…and whether or not Oberyn Martell had been the good guy all along. It was hard to tell really, she was caught up in a real life fairy tale, she was the stolen princess being hidden away in a crumbling palace by some vagabond who’d stolen her brother’s body.

“I wish you’d stop calling me that,” the man who wasn’t her brother says as she mutters the word where she thinks he can’t hear it.

“What?” she frowns at him.

“Vagabond…stop calling me that,” he tells her pointedly.

“But you are,” she scowls at him, “you’ve kidnapped me…you and I both know you have. I don’t know why….and I don’t know who you are…but we both know that’s what this is.”

“Have I ever threatened you?” he says as he looks at her, “tried to harm you in any way?”

“No,” Sansa frowns at him.

“Then I am no vagabond…and believe me my lady,” Rhaegar tells her, “I am for your honor and safety and not for your ruin. I do not hold you prisoner…by all means my lady,” he motions to the snow drifts around them, the icy world that has become their home over time, “Go….try your luck in this mess if you wish to leave…I will not stop you.”

She watches him build the fire up, snow clinging to his raven dark curls.  Then she looks out at the heavy snow fluttering down outside and sighs heavily, turning back towards the fire. If she leaves…she’d never survive. He was her only chance right now; she’d freeze to death before she ever made to a town or hold.  

They sit and eat roasted mushrooms, and she contemplates her captor. Who was he anyways? She thinks of the facts, recalling what she knows of him. He was good with stories; he knew all the poems like she did. He sang too, and sometimes…sometimes she would dream of music. The saddest music ever heard, and it springs to mind a particular story she knew that her Father once spoke of to her mother when she was a little girl, a story about her aunt…

“You and I are so alike sometimes,” Sansa says out of the blue, “we like the same stories…and the same poems…I’ve never heard anyone talk like you do. I thought I was the only one left in the world who still believed.”

“Almost like living in your own fairy tale,” he tells her with a half-smile, “you’re a princess and you’ve been kidnapped.”

“All we need is a dragon,” Sansa smiles a little, staring at her hands which were clasped in her lap.

“You’ve already got one of those,” he smiles to himself until he sees her stiffen, and frown curving her lips downwards. Then suddenly, a glitter of realization and she’s on her feet staring at him. He hears her whisper his name on the wind, a story of a woman who wept for the music of a prince.  Then she charges right at him, rage curling in her expression, a rage he wasn’t expecting from someone who delicate, someone who held her manners in check so strongly.

Sansa slaps him so hard her hand stings as if she’d held it over a flame. She yelps in pain, she’s never slapped anyone like that before.  Her ire burns within her, the horror of the years heavy on her shoulders. She might not remember it all, she may have only been told stories but she knows who was at the center of all this chaos, of all the ruin of her family.

“You,” she hisses, glaring up at him, “you did this…all of this! It was your fault! If only you’d let her alone, if you’d just leave her to Robert Baratheon…none of this would have ever happened! The Lannisters would have never taken the Iron Throne…your family would be alive… _mine_ would be alive… _you’ve brought ruin to us all_!”

He rubs his now reddening cheek and regards her quietly. He wasn’t expecting such a flair of fire in her, it reminds him of Lyanna. “You remind me of her,” he says softly, “though you’re not fighter…not like her. Lyanna wielded a sword like it was an extension of her arm. I hardly think you could lift a sword above your head let alone wield one at all.”

What?

Sansa stares at him as if finally seeing him for the first time, a trickle of fear runs down her spine. This man was crazy. Whatever the stories were about Rhaegar Targaryen, they weren’t this. The truth of him crushes her hopes and she turns away from him, rage boiling over her disappointment as she turns back to look at him, her blue eyes like diamonds as the fire from the hearth catches the light of her auburn hair like dragon fire. “I am _not_ Lyanna Stark,” she says firmly, “and I may not wield a sword _sir_ , but I am every bit the warrior as you. I need no sword to stand my ground in court, I need but my wit. I am a warrior of my own making, I have been tested in the fires again and again, and I have endured. Never mistake me for a weakling; I assure you it would be a grave error on your part.”

“Oh no,” he laughs, “I would not dare to attempt such folly my lady. Clearly you are a battle hardened maiden of the court. Tell me though, have you not always dreamed of fairy tales? You and I…we’re a dying breed Sansa. You and I are what those stories were written about. Can’t you see Sansa? Can’t you see what we _are_?”

“This isn’t a fairy tale!” Sansa shouts angrily, “This isn’t some story where you ride off into the sunset with your princess! I am no helpless maiden sir, and you are no dragon!”

“No,” he laughs, “Am I not? At least not like this,” he sighs softly, “I will be though….once more I will be a dragon again.”

“What does that mean?” Sansa frowns at him, worry glittering in her eyes. What could he possibly mean by such a statement? Did he _actually_ think he was a dragon like one of his ancestors had?

“You don’t _honestly_ think the Westrosi people will accept me like this, do you?” he quirks an eyebrow at her, “I don’t even _look_ Targaryen. No….my plans must change if I’m to regain any sort of footing in this kingdom.”

Realization dawns on her, and the horror of it leaves her speechless. She has to warn Aegon somehow, she has to get a message to him. This whole thing was a trap. “You mean to take Aegon’s body don’t you?”

“Well I can’t very well take Daenerys’s, now can I?” he grins at her in amusement.

“You don’t have the means to do it,” Sansa says with a frown, “you don’t have a gold piece to your name….no army…no alliances… _nothing_ ,” she says firmly, “you’re a nobody in Westeros.”

“True,” he nods, “but as for alliances…I have one…and he will bring many with him.”

“How do I play into all of this?” Sansa asks, keeping her distance from him now.

“Well,” he smiles at her, “you like fairy tales don’t you? So do I….we could say…. _the dragon guarded the princess fiercely for her’s is the winter blood. She was precious to him, like gleaming gold and gemstones. He waited his time for her Prince to come…and when he did…the dragon would steal his life and claim the princess for himself…._ this story will be different I think, don’t you? It sounds quite nice to write about.”

“You completely mad,” Sansa whispers fearfully, edging away from him, “you kidnapped my aunt and you raped her…she died because of you! Now you seek to try again? Did you learn nothing from that time?”

“I did _not_ rape her,” he says so sharply it frightens her. “We loved each other….she ran away with me. Elia helped us…she understood my calling…my duty. She willingly stepped aside so that Lyanna and I might be married. You and I will be different, I won’t let them hurt you I promise you that. Don’t you want to be queen Sansa? You and I…we could rule Westeros together. Just like in the stories…I would be a Prince again, and you would be my lady….just imagine it….an evil spell turned the handsome prince into a wicked dragon….but you could save me…you could break the spell.”

“ _This isn’t a fairy tale_!” Sansa almost screeches before she bolts from the room, desperate to escape this madman. The old crumbling palace was no longer a place of beauty and peace but a maze of broken corridors, wilting flowers and snow. All the while she knew he gave chase, calling her name, calling her to come back.

“Leave me alone!” she wept as she ran, terror icing her veins. She fled down the hill away from the palace, tumbling forward as she ran. She rolls, dirt stinging her hands as she tries to catch herself, snow and ice catching in her flaming hair. As she rolls she smacks her head on a rock and the world goes dark, the vague sound of Jon’s voice as he calls her name, the stirring of snow nearby as he drops to his knees and swings her up into his arms.

Then nothing at all.


	48. Chapter Forty-Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

“It is good to see you old friend,” she hears Jon say, the world is still dark around her, fire from the hearth nearby sets trails of light dancing across the ground and makes the shadows dance. She is afraid to move, afraid he will realize she’s awake. 

“Rhaegar,” coughs another voice, a voice she doesn’t recognize. “I never thought….I never thought I’d ever see you again.”

“It’s good to be seen, believe me,” Jon laughs a little, “I knew you’d believe me…I knew you’d know it was me. Did you bring them?”

“As many as I could gather,” the strange man says, “We’ve got….maybe two or three hundred good men, all loyal to the Targaryen family.”

“Does my sister know of them?” Rhaegar asks, sitting by the fire close to where Sansa lies prone and silent. He stays close to her, like a dragon guarding gold.

“No….Rhaegar…I have to ask, why is she here?” The other man inquires, glancing at the prone red haired woman lying behind his old friend.

“She,” Rhaegar says, catching a lock of Sansa’s auburn hair and curling it through his fingertips, “is the answer to everything. Her bloodline is pure…the last of winters blood.”

“Rhaegar,” the man frowns, “No…not again…. _tell_ me she isn’t a Stark. We were _boys_ then…young and foolish. Look what our foolishness did Rhaegar….it got the Stark woman killed and ruined your family. Not this again please… _let the prophecy go Rhaegar_ …I’m begging you.”

“No,” he says sharply, glaring at his old friend, “I won’t let it go Jon…you know I can’t.  Look at her….she is all that is left of the Stark family. Our blood together will replenish the land…it will bring forth a new era….the evil in this world will be vanquished for good this time.”

“You’re not really going to tell me about the white walkers again are you?” Jon says sourly, “Rhaegar…their _stories_ …their not _real_.”

“You _know_ their real,” Rhaegar argues, “and they must be stopped. Don’t pretend you didn’t see them too…I know you saw them just as I had. We might have been children then but it doesn’t change what we saw.”

“I don’t know what I saw,” Jon says tiredly, dropping down beside his friend, “I was just a boy….I could have been imagining things.”

“Is the witch in place?” Rhaegar changes the subject as the silence draws on between them, “Did she find them?”

“Yes,” Jon frowns to himself, “I sent her to your sister as you ordered.”

“Good,” Rhaegar smiles to himself, “Good.”

“I don’t see how she plays into all this,” Jon says quietly. “Why meddle with magic at all?”

“Because I need her to switch us Jon,” Rhaegar explains, “Plus she’ll lead the boy right to me.”

“You hadn’t wanted to be found before…I don’t see why it matters now,” Jon frowns.

“I wasn’t ready then, I’m ready now though…and once she switches us…”

“You can’t mean to really do this…not to Aegon. Rhaegar…I love that boy…I raised him like he was my own _son_. You can’t mean to steal away the life of your own son…especially one that owes no loyalty to you because he never even knew you. This body you’re in now…it’s unoccupied…the boy who it once belonged too is dead. Why not just keep this body…go on with your life. Start over somewhere…you have a second chance, don’t waste it trying to take back the Iron throne and risk getting yourself killed again!”

“Because the boy is still alive Jon,” Rhaegar says quietly, “My son still lives…his soul resides within the body of his direwolf, Ghost.”

Ghost….the wolf…the wolf was Jon!

Sansa’s heart flutters in her chest and she stirs restlessly, pretending that she dreams when Rhaegar glances at her. She feels his hand in her hair, brushing away a lose lock of flaming color away from her face. “Do you wake, my lady?”

She says nothing, stays very still.

“Take her home Rhaegar,” Jon says quietly, “don’t risk her life as well… _please_.”

“Get the men ready,” Rhaegar says as if he hadn’t heard his old friend, “and I will show you…you’ll see…I’m right about this. You may not believe me now but you’ll see…and when I rule the seven kingdoms once more I’ll put every Baratheon head I find on a spike for what they did to Lyanna.”

His friend falls silent, his gaze sorrowful and sad as he looks upon what has become of his old friend. Then he turns away and retreats back down the hill towards the gathering of men waiting at the bottom.

“You can stop pretending now Princess,” Rhaegar says softly, “do you not think I couldn’t guess you were pretending? I was good at it myself….especially when my Father wanted me to go out and watch him burn the commoners. I hated it…all of his evil and wicked ways…I wanted free of him and now I am.” Rhaegar laughs bitterly, “and now…I’m free of my whole family save for my sister and my two sons.  I shan’t have even that when I’m done…but perhaps my sister will not force my hand…maybe I’ll be able to reason with her.”

“You’re as mad as your Father,” Sansa whispers bitterly, tears burning in her eyes as she lies on her side, facing away from him, “you don’t see it…but neither did he.”

“I am _not_ …!” he trails off, his rage subsiding as he sees her flinch away from him further. “My lady…” he says after a pause, “My lady….I would not strike you….I would _never_ hit you. My brother Viserys and I witnessed my Father beat our Mother on many occasions…and I am not my Father…I would never do such a thing…regardless of how you might perceive me to be.”

“Then why didn’t you try to stop him?” Sansa says coldly, turning over to look at him with sapphire colored eyes as hard as diamonds, “Why did you stand by and do _nothing_?”

“Because he tried to take liberties with Elia,” he answers her softly, “and threatened worse if I ever dared to speak against him. He thought I was after his crown….he was paranoid. He threatened to imprison me…to have my wife executed…you don’t understand the things my Father did to us….to my wife and to my Mother. He was completely mad….but as King we couldn’t stand against him. There were many times where I contemplated his demise….my Mother urged me away from it and warned me that if I were ever caught doing such a thing I’d be executed. He was killing innocent commoners my lady…what was I to do? How was I to stop him?”

“Someone should have stopped him,” Sansa says coldly, “I know my family tried….and look what happened to them.”

“I am sorry for what my Father did to your family my lady,” Rhaegar says gently, kneeling down beside her, “I know that it must have been hard…never knowing your uncle or your grandfather.”

“And then you wonder why my family rose up against yours,” Sansa says icily and slides away from him, her red hair swinging loose around her face as she backs away from him. “Your whole family is completely mad…I would rather have Cersei Lannister herself sit the Iron throne before I let another mad Targaryen sit there!”

“Now don’t be too hasty my lady,” Rhaegar says, jumping to his feet when he sees the flash of silver in Sansa’s hand. She somehow got her hands on his dagger, and she looked like a snake coiling up to strike. “If you kill me…you kill Jon.”

“Is everything alright up here?” Jon asks, climbing the steps. His gaze turns to the young Stark woman and his old friend and he frowns, “My lady…” he bows deeply, trying to stem the tide of violence threatening to overflow. He notes the glitter of steel in her hand and says, “I am Jon Connington…an old friend of his highness Prince Rhaegar.”

Sansa stares him down, anger glittering in her eyes, “You side with this mad man?”

“He is my friend,” Jon sighs, “and he does have a point…I realize it’s hard to see…but you don’t know all the facts. You haven’t seen the things we have my lady…if you had….you’d side with us willingly.”

“I will _never_ side with you,” Sansa says firmly.

“You will,” Rhaegar says flatly as he watches her, all amusement draining from his features, “you will Sansa…one day… _you will_.”

 

* * *

 

It was cold wherever they were going, and the wolf wasn’t helping any. Sandor glares at the direwolf leading him off to who in the hell knows where. All he knew was that something was wrong, and for whatever reason he felt like he needed to follow this direwolf. He’s been riding for days and days, his ass was sore and his armor was starting to rust. It’s been pissing down snow and hail for hours, and if he didn’t see some sign of life soon he was going to tell the wolf to fuck off and head for warmer places.

“There’s nothing out here you mangy dog,” Sandor scowls at the direwolf, “why are we…” he trails off, all the breath lost to his words. A cry unlike anything he’s ever heard rings out clear as a bell above his head, so loud his ears ring and stranger does his best to buck and run like hell. Sandor fights for control, ducking low near his horse as his eyes watch in horror, the very thing of his nightmares…the very thing which he dreaded most in the world has just flown over his head. Black as night with teeth like razor sharp jagged swords, sharper than anything he’s ever seen welded to the Iron Throne at least, he swears he just witnessed Balarion the Black Dread just fly over his head.

“Fuck me…” he breaths aloud, his eyes wide as saucers as he stares at the dragon soar overhead, circling the land. “Fuck!” he shouts and turns his horse, bolting for the woods. He saw no rider which meant it was running free on its own. It isn’t until the gigantic nightmare of a dragon lands that he sees the glitter of silver hair like spun starlight, or the violet eyes and delicate features of one of the most beautiful women he’s ever seen. It was Rhaenys Targaryen come again…and if she was Rhaenys…where was Aegon?

“You there….how did you come by this direwolf?” Asks the woman, who nods towards the frantic direwolf running around the feet of the terrible dragon. That fucking direwolf was completely _mad_ he thinks to himself, she was going to get herself _eaten_.

“She found me,” he calls back, “and who the fuck are you?”

“I am Queen Daenerys,” she tells him, “Of Meereen. That direwolf belonged to someone we are looking for.”

“I ain’t seen her,” Sandor says as he spits, pulling in stranger’s reigns harder, “Bitch ran off ages ago. Left me for dead she did…I was trying to get her home and that’s how she thanked me.”

“Lady Sansa left you for dead?” Daenerys quirks an eyebrow, “that doesn’t sound like her.”

“ _Lady Sansa_?” he blinks at her, “I was talkin’ bout her sister Arya Stark….has somethin’ happened to her?”

“She’s been kidnapped,” Daenerys tells him, “and my people and I are scouring the countryside for her. She is a princess of Dorne, wife of Prince Oberyn Martell. I will grant a reward to the man who finds her for me and returns her to Dragonstone.”

A reward….as in _gold_ ….he needed gold.

There was the matter that this particular princess was none other than little bird….and she was in trouble. Fuck all if that twit didn’t get herself into trouble every time he turned around. “You got a heading?” Sandor asks, “any idea where they might have taken her?”

“In the south…towards Dorne,” she calls back to him, “that is all we know.”

“Fair enough,” he sighs. It’s been a long time since he’s been in battle; he needed to get his armor loosened up if he was going to fight anyone.

“One more thing,” Daenerys calls to him, “Her kidnapper…I want him alive and unharmed…if you can I want him brought to me.”

Well that’s a little odd…

Sandor watches her fly off, the wingspan of the dragon kicking up dirt and snow as she takes off again.  He watches that dragon sail off into the distance and silently wonders if he’s imagined it all until suddenly another soars by, green and glittering like an emerald against the cloudy gray sky.  He’s never seen a dragon like that either, but he can clearly see the rider…or _riders_ for that matter. The silver haired rider who held the reigns seemed more uncomfortable then the dark haired man riding behind him, which would have been slightly amusing had he not been scared shitless at the moment.

When they’ve gone he whistles for the direwolf and she takes off into the direction the dragons flew. He doesn’t bother wondering why, he just follows. The direwolf seems to know where she’s going, so there was no sense in trying to argue with it.

 

* * *

 

It was an uncomfortable situation for both of them. Oberyn wanted to go out on horseback but going by dragon was faster. As Oberyn knew little to nothing about riding a dragon he rode with his nephew out into the cold morning sky towards the place where the witch had told them they might find Sansa. His heart sped up a little more at the thought, fluttered in his chest at the thought of seeing her again.  His uncle shifts behind him uncomfortably and he tries his best to shift away from him, giving some space between them or as much as possible at least.

“My balls will be chafed raw by the end of this day I imagine,” Oberyn grouses quietly.

“I told you to wear a guard Uncle,” Aegon sighs heavily, “riding by dragon is different than riding by horse. The scales will dig into your thighs…among other appendages.”

Oberyn says nothing and Aegon sighs. He grows tired of his Uncle’s grousing, it was so unlike him to be so obstinate. Oberyn Martell was under a great deal of pressure at the moment, the stress of finding his wife, the stress of war, the stress of dealing with his nephew….it was all becoming too much for him. Ellaria was trying to help as much as she could, if they found Sansa she would help the girl recover while Oberyn dealt with the dornish troops. His wife no longer knew him, and this distressed him to no end. Perhaps should free her? Perhaps now when no ties held her to him, she could accept him releasing her from their marriage. It would be the best for her he imagined, she could marry his nephew. He wasn’t a fool; he could see how his nephew looked at her.

He knew that she had a chance at being Queen of Westeros should they win the war. This was going to be something they would have to discuss when they found her….if they found her.

“You’re awfully quiet uncle,” Aegon says as they soar over hills and valleys.

“You would marry her….if I released her?” Oberyn says to him bluntly, there was no point in hiding his intentions now.

Aegon is caught off guard by this question, and his silence stretches out so long that Oberyn wonders if he’d heard him at all until he says, “yes….I would marry her right then and there if I could.”

“It will have to be her choice,” Oberyn tells him quietly, “Her choice and not ours.”

“Agreed,” Aegon says and they both fall silent, lost in their thoughts.


	49. Chapter Forty-Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

She sleeps and she wakes and she sleeps again. It’s a never ending pattern; the only way she can escape the horror of what is happening is in her dreams. In her dreams she is home, safe inside Winterfell with Lady at her feet and her Mother sitting across from her by the fire. They talk of the world and of men and the etiquette of a Lady. Her world is right again in her dreams, she is safe here. He can never find her here, that wicked dragon of her nightmares. When she sleeps she dreams of a great green dragon, his tail curled around a stone tower where she sits in the window, watching…waiting…always waiting for someone to come…someone to save her…

“My lady…” whispers a voice…a voice she recognized as to belonging to Jon Connington. She blinks awake and stares at the elderly man who watches her in earnest, “Here…” he says, pressing a sharpened dagger towards her, “Take it…keep it hidden in under your skirts.”

“Why are you helping me?” she frowns at him, quickly hiding the dagger beneath her skirts. Rhaegar had taken her other one, and was now careful to keep all weaponry out of her reach. He had men guarding every exit from the crumbling palace now; there was no chance for her escape again.

“Because…” he says softly, “because I _can’t_.”

She watches him walk away, and doesn’t understand what he means by this.  When the morning comes she is offered hot broth to drink and takes it willingly. She huddles in a corner away from the others, safe in one of the old palace rooms where Rhaegar has ordered her to be kept.  He told her that it the room once belonged to his Mother, that it was the once known as the queen’s chambers. He thought she’d like that, but instead she threw her dinner tray at him.  He refrained from talking to her now, rather sending others to bring her food and drink.

This particular morning she leaves the empty bowl they give her by the door and instead sits by the window. Once, this palace was covered in greenery, vines twisted through the very stone of the walls and every color of flora gave life to the old and forgotten palace. Now it was a snow covered memory, the only marker of its existence was the fires that burned for the troops below. He wasn’t lying about having others with him, and this frightened her.

“Here,” Rhaegar says, walking slowly into the room. She turns to look at him, backs away near the corner and watches him grimace at her fear. “My lady…we must get around this. I am no foe to you…I mean you no harm. Look…I’ve brought you warm clothes….I’ve had men fetch you ladies things from the villages nearby. Warm furs and gloves. A gown befitting a queen…”

“I don’t want it,” she tells him, shaking her head, “I just want to go home.”

“You can’t go home,” he tells her quietly, “your home is gone.”

“Then let me go….Prince Rhaegar…I’m begging you… _please_ ,” Sansa says softly, “please….this is madness…let me go!”

“I can’t,” he tells her softly, “you know I can’t. Get changed my lady…before you catch a cold.” She watches him leave and turns towards the pile of clothes….well…at least she’ll be warm.

It takes her a while to get the gown on; she isn’t used to dressing on her own. The lacings are difficult but not nearly as difficult as they would be were she wearing a corset. The gown is grey and white like the colors of her family crest, and it makes her smile to herself. She recognizes the fabric and design as something of the North; clearly these men came from that area.  Over her shoulders she throws a heavy fur lined cloak and on her hands were matching delicate grey leather gloves. It was almost too coincidental of him, and she wonders if he gave her these colors for a reason. Maybe it was to comfort her, to remind her of home? She pulls up the fur lined hood of her cloak and combs out her auburn hair with her fingers, trying to appear the tiniest bit respectable despite her situation. It was disparaging being before so many people and being dressed like a boy with knots in her long auburn hair. She asks for a bucket of water and a brush so she might scrub at her hands and face, maybe get some of the dirt off.

What she would really like to do is wash her hair, but she dare not strip down for that, there were far too many prying eyes lurking amongst the ruins of this old palace for that. Granted all she probably had to do was tell Rhaegar about it and he’d gouge out the eyes of any man who dared to look upon her like that. It was an unsettling reminder of his madness, the way he reminded her of a fierce dragon guarding treasure. She hardly thought of herself as any great treasure, but he seemed to think she was.

She wondered how long he was going to keep her here like this, if they were going to stay at the palace or move on. Either way…she still needed to get a message to Aegon; she had to warn him somehow. She’d been stealing bits of paper when she could, a faintly written message scrawled on the back of some missive that the Connington man brought Rhaegar one morning. She folded up the tiny bit of parchment and hid it within her skirts along with the dagger Connington had given her a few nights before. Now all she needed to do was warn Aegon, and find a way to get the message to him.

 

* * *

 

“I see them,” Daenerys calls to Aegon, pointing towards a flame in the distance, a campfire. It was exactly where the witch had told them he would be, and Daenerys though never having come to this place before knew what it was. It was her family’s summer palace, the one that burned down the night Rhaegar was born. Viserys had once told her that Rhaegar loved the old palace, would often come there to camp at night and hide away from the public to stare at the stars and read his favorite books.

“This…he’s keeping her _here_?” Oberyn scowls at the crumbling palace. The three of them and their two dragons were hiding up on a cliff face overlooking the palace. Drogon and Rhaegal were nearby somewhere behind them, kept well out of sight.

“They won’t be able to see us in this blizzard,” Aegon says as the snow whips around them in a frenzy, “let’s take cover beneath the dragons for the night. Tomorrow we’ll attack at dawn when they sleep.”

“The coward’s way,” Oberyn says, “to attack a man while he sleeps.”

“I will cut any man down who holds Sansa hostage,” Aegon says darkly.

“You are young and inexperienced,” Oberyn tells him, “With practice and years of experience you will come to know that it’s dishonorable to attack a man while he sleeps. Rather have him face you, give him a chance at life. They are being paid to do this, they have women and children back home no doubt...they do not hold my wife hostage because of hatred, they do it because their being paid too.  This is no experienced army; these are mercenaries and sell swords. Some of them are Targaryen loyalists by the looks of it. Which means whoever he has with him knows who he really is…and that means he’s up to something.”

“How did he convince the loyalists of who he is?” Daenerys frowns as she gazes down on the scene below them, “and why was I never told of these men?”

“Because your highness,” Oberyn says darkly, “your brother means to usurp you.”

 

* * *

 

As dawn rose up around them like a fire blaze of light glittering through the dark clouds overhead, Sansa stirred restlessly awake. They kept a fire burning in the old room where she is kept, and occasionally someone would bring her more blankets. If Rhaegar thought he could win her loyalty with trinkets and gifts he had another thing coming. Twice he’s come to reason with her and twice she threw him out. Now as the dawn rose over the horizon, hardly visible between the patches of cloud in the sky she feared she may never escape this place.

She would have to take matters into her own hands.

She gathers what she can as she steals through the old ruin of a palace, past sleeping guards and waking ones as well. She is grateful to be so light footed as not to be noticeable, hoarding food and provisions in the pockets sewn into her skirts. She would never make it through the winter without food, but she’d rather die trying to escape this place and freeze to death in the snow then become the queen of a madman. It’s hard climbing to get away from the palace, several times she is nearly caught and several times her fear threatens to choke her.  Near the bottom of the hill she thinks she’s free when a rough voice calls out, “Just where do you think _you’re_ going?”

When she turns, she faces a rough looking man who towers over her, grey metal armor aged and worn, a sharp looking sword in his hand. “You ain’t supposed to leave.”

Sansa backs away from him, her fingers instinctively going for the dagger hidden in her skirts. She’d never be able to reach it in time though, not with this man stalking towards her so quickly. “Pretty thing like you…shouldn’t be wandering alone….never know who you might meet…” When he grabs her, she knows exactly what he means to do. If she screams he might kill her, and it’s clear he’s not entirely sober by the smell of liquor on his breath. “Pretty little bitch aren’t you?” he says as he shoves her down despite who she kicks at him.

“Say goodnight now,” the man says, as Sansa knows he means to knock her out.

“ _Goodnight_ ,” says another voice, a voice belonging to Jon Connington…and yet….and yet…his voice sounded _strange_. Sansa watches with wide eyes as a sword is plunged right through the guards belly and out the front. Then he drops like a rock, his eyes blank and staring. Jon Connington wipes the blood from his sword and looks at Sansa wearily. “We have to go now…before they wake.”

That voice…that voice didn’t belong to Jon Connington…that voice sounded like…

“ _Arya_ ,” Sansa breaths in a soft whisper, her eyes widening as the man who was Jon Connington pulls what looked like a fleshy mask from his face to reveal her sister.


	50. Chapter Fifty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

“He came to us, dying of grey scale.” Arya says, prodding their tiny fire with an old wooden stick. “I was with him when he died, and he’d had a story to tell.  A story about a Targaryen Prince who’d fallen in love with a Stark and ran off with her. He told me that she’d died and so did the Prince….but he managed to save the Prince’s son and took him in, raised him as his own.  When I asked him why he was telling me this, he said…. _because I would give you anything you want if you’d find a way to stop him_.”

“Did he know?” Sansa frowns at her sister, “I mean….about Rhaegar being alive?”

Arya nods solemnly, “he said he’d received a letter from a spider….a letter containing an impossible truth. Thing is…towards the end of Rhaegar’s life Connington knew that his old friend’s mind had broken.” Arya smiles bitterly as she stares at the flames then looks up at her sister, “Look at the pair of you….he thinks the whole world is a fairy tale and you’d give anything to be in one. You two make quite the pair.”

“Not anymore,” Sansa murmurs quietly, “I just want to go home.”

“I’m working on that,” Arya says to her, “I wasn’t planning on stealing away from that place till dark….you started early.”

“Sorry,” Sansa says sheepishly, staring at her feet.

“Anyways,” Arya continues with her story, “After he died my mentor returned from abroad. He’d gone to Oldtown for a mark, and he said he’d run across a dornish Princess who also happened to be my sister.”

“I don’t….” Sansa frowns, “I don’t remember any of that.”

“I know,” Arya tells her, “He told me your mind was broken…some kind of accident.”

“So you rescued me…because of Jon?” Sansa asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“No,” Arya shakes her head, “I didn’t even know you’d be there. I came there to kill Rhaegar and get out…but when I realized he had you….and what he planned to do with you…” Arya sighs, “I had to get you out of there. Though…I can’t help you again you know…not with what I do. Just this once Sansa, but after that…I doubt we’ll ever see each other again.”

“You realize that if you kill Rhaegar you kill Jon,” Sansa tells her softly.

“I noticed that,” Arya says, rubbing her tired eyes, “I don’t know what to do now. I don’t want to kill Jon…but I don’t want Rhaegar getting away either. Connington gave me his face so that I could do as he’d asked of me. He’d told me everything I needed to know to pass as him, every little secret Rhaegar has ever kept. You might say I know Rhaegar better then he knows himself at this point.”

“He’s mad,” Sansa says bitterly, staring into the flames of their campfire. “Completely mad.”

“Definitely,” Arya nods, “and not nearly as gallant as the stories make him out to be. Sad part is he’s got good intentions, just everything went to shit because he went about it the wrong way.”

They are silent for a long while. Arya has grown taller since last she saw her sister, and stronger looking. No longer was she scrawny and thin, but her body was becoming that of a woman’s, and her dark hair had grown out considerably. “What happened to you?” Sansa says softly, “where did you go?”

“One of Father’s friend’s smuggled me out just before they killed Father,” Arya tells her and goes on to tell her the story of how she ended up in Braavos. Sansa in turn tells her what she remembers, what the others had told her of how she came to be a dornish princess.

It was cold where they hid inside the mouth of a damp cave, shielded from the snow. In the morning they would make for Winterfell, but keep an eye out for dragons as well. Sansa had told Arya about how she knew Queen Daenerys and her nephew Prince Aegon, and maybe…just maybe if they saw one they could flag them down. Maybe they could take Sansa back to Dragonstone instead.

They had one horse which Arya had stolen, along with what food Sansa had brought with her. Everything had been a bit rushed, all they could do was trudge through snow as fast as they could when the guards roused and the shouting started. Then they were on horseback, fleeing across the valley down the icy dirt roads which were caked in snow and mud.

“Lucky for you I’m a better thief then you,” Arya tells her when she sees but one ration of bread that Sansa proffers to her from a pocket in her skirts. Arya then produces a satchel full of food, along with a sword and two daggers.

“I got you another dagger,” Arya offers it to her and she takes it gratefully, “Make sure you keep that one on you all the time too.”

“Might be a better thief but your no less a fool,” says a gruff voice. “I could see that fuckin’ fire a mile off from here.”

Arya jumps to her feet and Sansa dashes backwards into the cave, taking cover behind a large boulder. When Arya sees who it is she sighs and lowers the sword in her hand, “Not _you_ again.”

 

* * *

_Much Earlier..._

“Something’s wrong,” Aegon says, and then he sees it, a single horse fleeing across the valley with two riders. “Look! _There_!”

Daenerys steps close to him, watching the horse flee into the valley. “Someone’s escaped…”

“Sansa,” Oberyn says, stepping up beside Daenerys, “it must be her. They wouldn’t be kicking up such a fuss over a random thief.”

“Aegon…take Rhaegal and follow that horse, find the riders and find out who they are,” Daenerys says, waving her nephew off before turning to look at Oberyn, “We need to get closer.”

Oberyn quirks an eyebrow, smirking at her but says only, “I agree…I want to hear what they are saying.”

 

* * *

 

“Put that fuckin’ fire out!” Sandor Clegane grouches loudly, dipping down below the low hanging boulders as he coaxes Stranger inside the cave with him.

“We’ll freeze to death without it,” Arya argues.

“Then find some way to shield it,” Clegane counters as he leaves Stranger beside the horse that Arya had stolen. He stops half way towards the fire, and glances behind him. There in the shadows he spies someone watching him wearily and he half smiles before saying, “you can come out now little bird.”

“She doesn’t remember you,” Arya says as he drops down on a stone across from her, “Lost her memory.”

“How much does she remember then?” Clegane frowns at the auburn haired woman approaching them.

“I remember….only….” Sansa gasps, images and flashes of green fire on the sea and the screams and roars of dying men against the stone walls of Kings Landing. “I…” she stops as if staring into the distance, the faintest trace of a memory slipping through her fingers like water. “You were Joffrey’s royal guard….”

“Aye,” Clegane nods, “Nothing else then?”

“No…” Sansa trails off, frowning at him. What was that memory about? It sounded like war and death….and then smell of heavy liquor and sweat.  The rumble of a voice in the distance, the cold breeze of the wind floating through her window….

“Sansa,” Arya says, watching her distant sister, “Sansa….?”

“Sorry,” she blinks, “I’m fine….I’m fine…” and then sits down next to Arya, staring at her clasped hands.

Arya then gathers their belongings to try and shield the light from the hearth so that nobody outside could see it. They share what food they have with Clegane and tell him the story of how they escaped. Arya doesn’t talk about being part of the faceless men, she doesn’t tell him _how_ she got to Sansa, she only mentions of how they escaped.

“You left me for dead you little shit,” Clegane scowls at Arya.

“You were dying anyways,” Arya shrugs.

“You could have finished me off,” Clegane tells her, “I begged as much.”

“Stop complaining,” Arya rolls her eyes and then nods toward the piece of bread in his hand, “eat….we need to put this fire out and get some sleep soon.”

In the morning the sun stays hidden by the clouds though rays of light pierce the gloom, shimmering through cracks in the cave walls. It isn’t these rays of light that wake the weary travelers though; it’s the sharp cry of a dragon that stirs them.

“What?” Clegane jerks awake, groggy and disoriented even as Sansa is clambering to her feet, “Dragons….it’s a Dragon Arya!” She’s already on her feet and running for mouth of the cave, Arya hardly on her feet and half-awake as she chases after her.

“No Sansa stop!” Arya cries out, grabbing the tails of her sister’s skirts.

“What are you doing?” Sansa says fretfully, “He’s out there…oh what if it’s _Aegon_? Why did you stop me?”

“Because,” Arya says as she swallows thickly, the two of them wide eyed as they turn to the sound of rustling deeper into the cave, “I don’t think that came from outside.”


	51. Chapter Fifty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

Several things happen at once.  Sansa hears a sharp cry of alarm and the screaming of horses as Stranger and the grey mare Arya had stolen bolt past them out into the forest beyond the mouth of the cave. Just behind them is Sandor Clegane, shouting obscenities and yelling at the two of them to run.

“I’ve never seen him run that fast before,” Arya observes in awe, watching Clegane bolt into the woods. She is jarred from such revelry when she hears the heavy breath of something enormous clawing its way up out of the cave behind them. When they turn, Sansa starts to run but Arya shouts for her to stop. Glittering emerald eyes burn in the darkness watching them, a snake like head with clawed wings, digging into the rock face around them, raining debris and dirt into their hair and faces.  “Don’t…..don’t run Sansa…” Arya breaths softly, “don’t scream…don’t run….stay very… _very_ still.”

“Get the fuck out of there you idiots!” Arya can hear Clegane shout, “There’s a fuckin’ dragon in there!”

“Don’t run you idiot!” Arya hisses at Clegane, wherever he was behind her outside, and then says to Sansa, “If you run…you die….it will think your prey. They’re like _wolves_ Sansa….back up slowly….very… _very_ slowly….don’t make eye contact and keep your head down.”

“And when did you become such an expert on _dragons_?” Sansa scowls at her sister, hissing low under her breath so as not to disturb the waking dragon before them.

“I had time to read a book or two….and any animal with predator instincts will react the same way,” Arya reasons logically, “you run…it will think your prey and attack. So, is this one of Queen Daenerys’s?”

Sansa shakes her head, “No….I’ve never seen this dragon before.”  Sansa’s heart is beating so hard she thinks it will thump its way right out of her chest. She can’t stop shaking no matter how hard she tries, and her legs threaten to give out from under her.

Then the unthinkable happens.

Sansa lets out a cry of fear as the dragon charges forward, Arya is thrown to the ground along with Sansa as it clambers right over them and out of the cave, chasing after the horses.  Sansa is so scared she could hardly breathe while Arya trembles in the dirt, never daring to raise her head as the dragon’s tail swoops over them and out of the cave.  Then can hear Clegane yell out something obscene and then nothing more. 

“Is it gone?” Sansa whispers, scared out of her mind.

“Yeah…I think so,” Arya says, lifting her head just a little to look. The dragon was most certainly gone, but it left behind one hell of a mess. Moments later Clegane appears at the mouth of the cave, searching for them.

“We’re fine,” Arya calls to him.

“Speak for yourself,” Sansa says to her sister and then turns towards the back of the cave, where already Arya has noticed a gaping hole where the dragon must have come from.

“How long has it been in here?” Sansa wonders aloud.

“No telling,” Arya says as her eyes widen, gazing down into the depths of the cave where the dragon came from. Near the back the floor is littered with the skeletal remains of animals, “but something tells me it’s been here for a _long_ time.”

 

* * *

 

“Faster Rhaegal,” Aegon urges his dragon, leaning into the dive as they whip across the sky. He lost sight of the horse hours ago but he hopes to find it still.  If there was even the slightest chance that the rider was Sansa, he had to hurry. He lands in a few places, questioning villagers and searching roadways. Nobody has seen a grey mare pass through, but he imagines most of them are just anxious for him to leave so they tell him whatever they must. Rhaegal makes the people nervous, most of them have fled in doors and bolted all the windows and doors shut.

As he swoops low, searching the tree line for any sign of life something bright silver flashes across his vision. He pulls up on the reigns a little, hovering just over the trees as he searches in the sea of snow and forest for what he saw. Then suddenly with a roar like the crashing waves of the sea it bursts forth from the trees, and Aegon is so startled he has but seconds to veer away from the giant silver beast. It misses him by inches, just as Rhaegal swoops to the right and the silver creature, glittering like valerian steel in the pale light whips past them and up into the sky, chasing after….a grey mare.

“Sansa!” he cries out but sees no riders. The thing that flew past him was most definitely a dragon, but it was no dragon of Daenerys’s that was for sure. “It’s feral…” Aegon breaths in awe, preening for a moment at being the first to find another live dragon.  He veers in the direction from where the grey mare came from, landing amongst uprooted trees and shredded ground.  He searches for what feels like hours, Rhaegal trailing along behind him.  Something shifts in the trees and a black war horse bolts past him, much to the anger of a burly looking man in the distance shouting at it.

“Come back here you stupid horse!” Shouts the man, murky brown hair swinging loosely over one side of his face, concealing the evidence of burned skin.

“You there!” Aegon shouts to him, “Did you see where that dragon came from?”

 

* * *

 

“I don’t see Lady Sansa,” Daenerys whispers quietly.

“Neither do I,” Oberyn nods, “I don’t see your brother either however…” he frowns at this, “Why isn’t he here?”

“Do you think the other rider was him?” Daenerys says suddenly, fearfully, “what if he’s run off with her? What if he knew we were here?”

“I doubt it…though…he _has_ run off with a Stark woman before,” Oberyn thinks aloud sourly, recalling the incident, “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Daenerys has nothing to say to this, so she remains silent. Her brother has done unforgivable things in the eyes of many, and his mind is as broken as her Father’s was. She has to find him and figure out what to do with him.

“The witch will switch them back when we find him,” Daenerys tells Oberyn, “though….I don’t think Jon will appreciate me keeping his Father’s spirit inside his direwolf.”

“I say we cast it back into the void,” Oberyn says quietly, “I know that sounds cruel your highness…he is your brother. I only say this because what he is, is unnatural…he must go back.”

“Why him though?” Daenerys says softly, “Out of all the people that could take up residence in Jon’s body…all the people of my bloodline _and_ the Starks….why Rhaegar?”

“I don’t know,” Oberyn admits, “I don’t understand it myself.”

 

* * *

 

“What?” Sandor Clegane says to the silver prince, the man with hair like spun moonlight and eyes the color of lilacs in spring. He was like a prince right out of a fairytale, right down to the black and crimson of his doublet and boots. He was every inch the Targaryen prince that Clegane remembered Rhaegar being, complete with the cocky _I’m-better-then-you_ attitude. “That great silver _monstrosity_? That thing tried to eat me _and_ my horse! Oh I know where it came from alright; it came out of the cave I was sleeping in!”

“You were sleeping in a dragon’s den?” Aegon frowns at the other man. “Why would you do that?”

“I didn’t _know_ it was a dragons den when I slept in it!” Clegane huffs irritably, “Wasn’t even my choice to sleep there really…it was that dumb little shit’s idea….she should have checked the cave.”

“She…” Aegon says, suddenly alert, “I’m looking for a princess…”

“Aren’t we _all_ ,” Clegane rolls his eyes.

“I’m looking for a princess,” Aegon repeats, continuing as if he hadn’t heard Clegane’s snide remark, “with Auburn hair and blue eyes. She was riding that grey mare I believe…the one the dragon was chasing after…have you seen her?”

“What’s it to you?” Clegane says, suddenly weary of the prince.

“She is my aunt and a princess of Dorne,” Aegon narrows his eyes at the other man, “Sir….if you know of her whereabouts you will be rewarded for your services to the crown.”

“You ain’t got no crown,” Clegane says, “you haven’t an army…and you _aren’t_ a prince. I’ve seen cocky shits like you before…again and again I’ve seen them. Every one of them the same…every one of them just miserable little shits who think the world will hand them anything they want on a silver platter.”

“I don’t need an army,” Aegon tenses as his hand brushes the hilt of his sword, “and I won’t ask twice.” A rumbling sound in the background makes Clegane take pause, his eyes widening in barely suppressed fear as the emerald green dragon steps out from beyond the trees, amber eyes gleaming in the sunlight.

“You swear you won’t hurt her?” Clegane asks quietly.

“I promise you….I mean to take her back to Dragonstone with me where she will be safe,” Aegon says honestly.

“Follow me,” Clegane sighs and motions for the young prince to follow him.

 

 


	52. Chapter Fifty-Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

“Smells like piss in here,” Arya scowls as she and her sister depart from the cave, “and dragon shit.”

“Arya _really_ ,” Sansa scolds her sister softly; “Must you use such foul language?”

“Oh please,” Arya says, “not this again… _anything_ but this. Sansa…we’re not high born _anything_ anymore…we’re _nobodies_ ….our home is gone, our family is gone.  I can say whatever I please now.”

“You will always be on noble blood,” Sansa tells her, “and you will always be highborn whether we have a roof over our heads or not.”

“Nobody gives a shit about us anymore,” Arya argues, “we’ve got nothing to our names…no dowry…no lands… _nothing_.”

“I am wardeness of the North,” Sansa counters, “and Queen I suppose….well…that’s what Prince Oberyn told me anyways.”

“Lovely,” Arya says, “Well that’s all well for you but I want nothing to do with any of it.”

“I beg to differ my lady,” says another voice, deep and rich and sweet as a summer breeze.  Sansa knows that voice, and she smiles as she turns, her sapphire eyes meeting the color of lilacs in the spring.

“ _Aegon_ ,” she says, joy and relief flooding her heart as she gazes upon the Targaryen Prince.

“I found your Prince,” Clegane says as he passes Sansa, “Got a little lost on the way to save you I think.”

“Like you did any better,” Arya tells him with a roll of her eyes.

“ _I_ found you first,” Clegane points out, “ _and_ I did it without any flashy weaponry I might add.”

“Regardless,” Sansa cuts in as she gazes upon Aegon, “You’ve found him for us….”

“Are you alright my lady?” Aegon steps forward, scanning her over carefully.

“I’m fine thank you your highness;” Sansa blushes brightly, “Sir Clegane kept us safe.”

“Fuck your--…” Clegane cuts off at the dark and scathing look Sansa shoots him. His words seem to ring bells in her mind, a distant memory of when she made the mistake of calling him _Sir_ before…

“ _Dragon_!” Arya shouts suddenly, jumping back at the sight of the emerald green dragon down the path just behind them.

“It’s alright,” Aegon says quickly, “That’s just Rhaegal.”

“We saw another dragon this morning,” Arya says, “a big silver one with green eyes.”

“Not any dragon of mine or my aunt’s I’m afraid,” Aegon says, “I’ve never seen it before.”

“Bloody thing almost killed us,” Clegane mutters irritably.

“It looked much older than any of ours,” Aegon says, “At least over a hundred years old.”

“Probably should think about catching it,” Arya tells him, “being that your family are the dragon tamers.”

“Probably,” Aegon smiles a little.

“Your highness,” Sansa says, “This is my sister Lady Arya.”

“Just Arya,” Arya says flatly.

“My lady,” Aegon bows with a polite nod.

“Not a lady,” Arya says as she turns towards Clegane, “We need to find the horses.”

“ _Arya_ ,” Sansa says, mildly scandalized, “Be respectful. His highness is the crown Prince.”

“ _Enough_ already,” Arya glares at Sansa.

“Alright you two,” Clegane cuts in with a grimace, “ _Shut it_ …the both of you, _now_.”

* * *

 

When day turns into night, Aegon has Rhaegal light a fire for camp. Much to the displeasure of Clegane, who promptly asks him to _keep that shit away from me_ , and then distances himself from the whole thing.  It’s warmer beneath the wings of Rhaegal, the winter ice can’t reach them beneath the heat of a dragon’s wing. Clegane however opted to sit under the trees and shiver, rather than go anywhere near a dragon….ever.

“In the morning we’ll fly to Dragonstone,” Aegon tells Sansa, “your husband is anxious for you.”

“ _Ew_ …” Arya grimaces at the very thought.

“Not like _that_ ,” Sansa glares at her sister and then smiles apologetically to Aegon. He seems to find it amusing, Sansa is horrified.

That night when they sleep Sansa dreams. She dreams she is Lyanna Stark, locked away in tower, high above the world. In the tower there are no doors but one window, and on that window ledge she sits and views the world as the days and nights pass, every so often she hears below at the very base of this tower the rumblings of a fierce and angry dragon.  For the tower was surrounded by vast stone walls, the ruins of an old castle.  She dreams of a green dragon far below, his emerald scales glittering in the sunlight as he wraps around the base of the tower, guarding it fiercely. Many have tried to rescue her, and many have failed. This dragon is relentless, and with it came a curse.

By day she sleeps, but the moon she wakes, and only on the full moon can she be freed. For dragon wasn’t always a dragon, but a man. The dragon can only become a man once more on the full moon, and during those times he seeks her out, and lets her roam free from the tower so that he might be with her.

_Lyanna…Lyanna…Lyanna…._

Soft as the wind those words hum in the air, and Sansa knows she is not Lyanna. Lyanna Stark was nothing like her, but the dragon cries out to her all the same.

“Sansa…” Another voice in the distance, and when she blinks she’s no longer in a tower but lying on the cold forest floor. Arya hovers over her, worried looking. “Hey….you were dreaming.”

Sansa stirs and sits up, blinking the sleep from her eyes. “I….” she frowns, the dream slips away from her so quickly she can hardly recall it now. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Arya shakes her head, “you only woke me…the others are still asleep. Well…you did wake Rhaegal…he got really anxious when you started dreaming.”

Sansa notes the agitated restlessness in Rhaegal’s stance, the way he holds himself as his tail curls around the camp and his wings flutter restlessly. He was looking at her thoughtfully; his intelligent eyes were gazing upon her with what almost looked like worry.  “I’m ok,” Sansa says in a soft whisper to the dragon, “I’m alright….really.”

“Wassa matter?” Aegon says sleepily, and the way he talks when he’s half asleep makes both sisters want to laugh.  He is usually so formal, to see him with his silver hair tousled and his speech slurred was rather an amusing sight.

“Nothing,” Sansa shushes him softly, “its fine your highness…go back to sleep.”

“Mmm…” he says and rolls over, promptly falling asleep again.

“What were you dreaming about?” Arya asks her softly.

“I don’t really remember….” She frowns softly, “but….but Rhaegal was in it.” She says with spark of recognition in her eyes. Now she knew why the dragon was so familiar, why Rhaegal looked so worried. Dragons had magic in them, Aegon had once told her. He said they were full of magic, magic that the world had lost when the children of the forest left Westeros.

“Dreaming about dragons eh?” Arya smiles faintly as her eyes drift over to Aegon, “about him too?”

“I’m married,” Sansa frowns at her sister, “I have a duty to my husband.”

“Doesn’t mean he isn’t awfully nice to look at,” Arya smirks faintly at her sister.

“Well…” Sansa glances at the young prince. She’d never seen anyone so handsome before, she had to admit. Yet she is left to wonder why she married Oberyn aside from the obvious reasons. She wonders if there were other reasons behind those, if Oberyn was more than she thought him to be. It wasn’t like she gave him a chance anyways; she was too scared of him to do that.

“Hold that thought,” Arya smiles faintly at her sister, “Think about it for a while. Get some sleep….it’s my turn to be look out anyways.”

 

* * *

 

_When she sleeps she dreams of Dorne. She’s in a wooden coach wreathed in flowers being carried into Sunspear. She sees the palace Water Gardens; she’s running through them in a flowing white wedding gown being chased by a dark haired man with even darker eyes. Oberyn…that’s Oberyn….._

“Wake up Princess,” whispers a voice near her ear. Sansa jerks awake with a start and is hauled up half asleep into the arms of a stranger. She lets out a scream and her panicked eyes find Aegon, sword drawn and anger in his eyes. Arya is beside him, looking furious. They are surrounded by soldiers, being stripped of weapons, their hands being bound in front of them.  It doesn’t take long for her to realize who’s holding her, dark curly hair whispering in the wind, flecked with snow. “I will always find you,” he murmurs near her ear, “it doesn’t matter how far they take you, it doesn’t matter where they take you…I will always find you Sansa.”

“No…” she moans sadly, despair flooding her heart. He forces her up onto his horse as he swings up behind her.

“No,no…” he says, wiping the tears from her face, “no more tears my Princess.”

“I hate you,” she says as bitterly and as viciously as she can, “ _I hate you_!”

“Hush,” he says as he urges the horse forward, “Hush now princess…the story’s not over yet.”


	53. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game Of Thrones.

Imprisoned in a keep she did not recognize, it took her a moment to realize this was the keep of the Karstarks.

 _Traitors_ …

That single word burned behind her lips with such venom she could barely contain it.  Traitors to side with the mad prince, madness alone to side with a mad prince who’s been dead fifteen years.  She was locked away in one of the guest rooms and made to listen to Rhaegar as he plays his harp. She ignores him steadfastly and she thinks this irritates him immensely.

“Soon, Winterfell will be mine,” Rhaegar says offhandedly just to see if Sansa would notice.

She does, her back stiffening and her eyes turning toward his, “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he smiles wanly at her, “There is dissension in the ranks my lady.”

“Not Winterfell,” Sansa stands quickly, turning to face him fully, “Take what you will…just not that.”

“Did you know that your brother had the Elder Karstark killed because he disobeyed his King and murdered two Lannister boys a few years back?” Rhaegar asks, pacing the room as he speaks, “The Karstarks will never be loyal to the Starks again.”

“I can hardly imagine them joining the Targaryen loyalists to a dead crown prince either,” Sansa says dryly in return. “In fact I think Arnolf Karstark would run naked wrapped in Stark banners across the north in the dead of winter before he’d join his armies with that of the Targaryen ones.”

Rhaegar smiles faintly at her, a sour touch to his eyes, “Then their swords will be melted down and added to the iron throne when this war is over.”

“Why are you here?” Sansa snaps, tired of his banter.

“To visit you my lady,” he says soothingly, “I know you must be bored with all this waiting.”

“What are we waiting for exactly?” Sansa asks, frowning at the face that once belonged to her half-brother Jon Snow.

“For your brother of course,” he grins at her, “and for your prince.”

 

* * *

 

  
“Fucking traitors,” Oberyn snarls under his breath when word reaches them that the Karstarks are aiding Rhaegar. “They ran when we took Winterfell,” he tells Dany quietly, watching the dragon queen ready herself for battle. They were taking the dragons out and if necessary they’d burn the whole bloody mountain side if it persuades Rhaegar to let his captives go.

“I’m going ahead on Drogon, I want to try and reason with my brother before we burn them all alive.”

Oberyn nods, “I’ll lead the armies behind you,” he pauses, tapping his chin, “what of Viserion?”

“What of him?” Dany quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Can you think of anyone who can ride him, anyone you would trust to ride him that is?”

She shakes her head warily, “You must bond with him first before he’ll trust you enough to let you on his back. Viserion doesn’t know anyone aside from me; he won’t be trustworthy with any other rider.”

“Seems a shame,” he frowns, “We could use his help in this.”

“One day,” Dany smiles faintly, “One day all of my children will have riders.”

 

 

* * *

 

The sky is black with storm clouds, thick and rumbling as they roll over the northern sky and black out the sun. Dany clings to Drogon’s back and shivers in the cold despite how warm he is. Below her, the Martell army races across the land, the red viper in full armor at the front. Not only has her brother kidnapped a Princess of Dorne, he’s taken her nephew and her dragon.  They’ve been riding for hours it seems, stopping neither to sleep nor to eat.  She had to get their before Oberyn, she did not trust his temper to hold out until she arrived. He was a viper in every sense of the word, he gave little warning and when he means to strike, he is swift and merciless.

This was a disaster.

It puts everything they’ve worked for on hold, and embarrasses them in front of all of Westeros as she goes off to chase after her wayward brother before he wrecks any more havoc in the kingdom.  When they reach the Karstark keep its barren and empty, eerily so.

“Where is everyone?” Dany asks softly, resting on the back of Drogon.

“Mostly like they fled,” Oberyn says thoughtfully, frowning at the scene before them. Then he stops, his gaze catching sight of fire dancing in the window of one of the towers, “ _Sansa_ …”

“Your highness _wait_ ,” Dany says quickly, “It may be a trap.”

“Trap or no…he will not keep her any longer.” He is swift in his movements, pull a spear from his saddle as he flips it end over end in his hand, his dark eyes shifting across the scene as he walks towards the large double doors of the keep. “Rhaegar Targaryen!” he shouts loud enough for his voice to echo off the stone walls, “Murderer and betrayer….come and face the consequences of your actions!”

When there is no response, he continues loud enough that the whole keep might hear him, “You will either hand over my wife or you will face dragon fire.”

There is a shriek nearby as Rhaegal suddenly bursts free from somewhere at the back of the keep, a soldier clinging to a rope that’s bound around his neck is flung overhead and thrown twenty feet before he slams into the ground and rolls right up to Oberyn’s feet. Oberyn jumps back and ducks as Rhaegal lets out an angry snarl and digs his claws into the roof of the keep, ripping up tar and wood.

“Rhaegal!” Dany calls, trying to sooth him, her heart aches to see him bound in rope as he is.

“What idiot would try and bind that dragon in rope?” Oberyn says, kicking the body of the soldier at his feet over so that he rolls onto his back. With the tip of his spear he levels it at the man’s throat, “Where is my wife?”

“I…” he coughs, terror in his eyes, “don’t know…please…”

“Wrong answer,” he says smoothly, the man letting out a pained cry as Oberyn stabs the spear through his throat with one swift motion. He steps over the man and starts for the doors, flanked by Martell soldiers. The inside of the keep is empty, and the more rooms they find unoccupied the more nervous he becomes.

 

* * *

 

“Shh,” says a soft voice as Oberyn turns, red hair filling his gaze. Sansa his held against Rhaegar, one arm around her waist and another smoothing the hair away from her face as he walks her down the stairs of the main hall, “Shhh princess…the story has only just begun. Now we have our prince….”

“Rhaegar please…” Sansa whispers, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. “Please don’t…please…just let me go.”

“I think I know what happened now…” Oberyn says as he watches them, “all those years ago….you tried to bring magic into a world that had none, to make a girl a princess when all she wanted was a simple farm boy. She never wanted you; you tried to make her into something she wasn’t.”

Rhaegar’s expression becomes thunderous but he says nothing as Oberyn continues, “Lyanna Stark just wanted to be free to run wild in the North and you tried to turn that northern farm girl into the princess from all your stories, and she fought you every moment of the way.”

“I loved her,” Rhaegar admits, “I was her prince in that story…I will always be her prince.”

“She never wanted you,” Oberyn snarls, “and neither does Sansa!”

“Oh I know that,” Rhaegar smiles faintly, “if she will not have me as her prince…then she will have me as the _villi---…”_ He doesn’t get to finish that sentence, much to the relief of all those around him. Instead he is thrown over the bannister and Sansa is tossed forward haphazardly ,into the waiting arms of her prince.  A great white direwolf stands atop the mad prince on the floor across the room, wood and dust scattered around them.

“Jon,” Sansa weeps, joy and relief in her eyes to see the great white direwolf. She couldn’t remember much of her life before her memories were scattered like sand across a beach. Yet she knew that wolf was her brother, and she was finally safe.

Oberyn kisses her forehead softly and gently urges her behind him as Dany steps into the room.

“Brother,” Dany begins quietly, “Enough…stop this madness….come home…please…”

He laughs, blood on his lips and a cut over his brow. He laughs and laughs despite how the direwolf above him growls and his sister’s expression grows even more concerned.  They haul him to his feet and bind him in rope before marching him outside. He goes quietly, albeit with a slight limp.

“This was too easy,” Oberyn frowns, “I don’t like it.”

“Let’s just get him back to Dragonstone before anything else happens,” Dany says as Rhaegal cries out in agitation, shifting nervously atop one of the roofs nearby. Drogon waits near the gates outside, his gaze on his sibling. There was something in the restlessness of the dragons that made Dany nervous, something was _wrong_.

There was something in the way that Rhaegar stared at Rhaegal, no, not stared…. _fixated_.

Rhaegal let out a screech and squirmed angrily, Drogon roared and Dany rushed to calm him, yelling for everyone to get back. In the center of it all Rhaegar kept his gaze fixed on Rhaegal, and then he turned his head and smiled at his sister, “Did you know sweet sister…that those of the Stark blood are wargs?”

“ _No_!” Dany shouts, realization hitting her like a sack of bricks, “ _No_ Rhaegar, you can’t!”

It was too late though, and before she knew what was happening Jon Snow’s body drops to the ground and begins to cough roughly, Rhaegal takes off in a whirl of emerald wings and wind and Sansa screams.

“Somebody untie me!” Jon shouts angrily, sitting up, “Somebody untie me _now_! SANSA!”

Dany dives for Drogon’s reigns and Oberyn races for his horse. Chaos ensues as the great emerald dragon above them sets his sights on a red haired maid.

  
“UNTIE ME!” Jon shouts at Oberyn fiercely, “NOW!”

Oberyn curses and races over to cut his binds before helping the younger man up. “He’s going after Sansa!”

“I need a horse!” Jon says, whistling for Ghost who runs alongside him as he takes a horse that he is offered and swings up onto the saddle.

“Welcome back,” Oberyn smiles at Jon.

“It’s good to be back,” he grins at Oberyn, “ _Finally_.”

 

* * *

 

It isn’t everyday you’re chased by a dragon. There is the metaphorical reference which is often used when referring to a Targaryen. There’s even the occasional reference to a particularly grumpy person, but never in all her days did she think she’d be chased by an actual, _literal_ dragon.

For the first time in her life, Sansa Stark _hated_ fairytales.

She dodged left and right, the huge emerald dragon above her diving repeatedly as it tried to grab her.

“Leave me alone!” She screams, her legs burning with the effort to reach the tree line.

She wasn’t going to make it….there was no way…she wouldn’t make it….

“NO!” she sobs as clawed feet catch her shoulders and lift her high into the air, “NO!” she screams, pain searing across her arms. Rhaegal’s claws dig into her shoulders even tighter every time she moves; a simple warning to stop fighting him. “Please…” Sansa begs, tears sliding down her cheeks, “Rhaegar please…you don’t have to be the villain…this isn’t a fairytale…this is real life…this…this can’t be what you want _please_!”

 

* * *

 

“Well there’s something you don’t see every day….” Arya says as she struggles out of her bindings, Aegon stepping up beside her. “Would be her too…” Arya scoffs lightly, “Being carried off by a bloody dragon of all things.”

When Aegon doesn’t move she glances at him, “We’ll don’t just stand there…get moving…somebody’s got to rescue her.”

“He’s completely mad…isn’t he?” Aegon says with a frown curving his lips, “My Father….completely mad.”

“I’m sorry,” Arya says as they find horses to ride, “I know it isn’t an easy truth to accept.”

“He destroyed your family…and now he’s trying to do it again,” Aegon frowns, looking both tired and sad.

“Stop that,” Arya glares at him, “Stop despairing and start helping me find my sister….honestly what kind of prince are you anyways?” Arya scolds him as they ride off after the dragon that was disappearing into the horizon carrying her sister.

“Not _her_ prince!” Oberyn calls as he races past them.

“But we wouldn’t mind the help!” Jon adds as he races past them as well.

Arya grins at Jon, joy filling her heart to see him again. She races along after them with Aegon right behind her.


	54. Chapter 54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game Of Thrones.

In a tower long forgotten by time and surrounded by snow she stares glumly out the window. This was not a fairy tale, this was real life and she was in serious danger.  Rhaegar would no doubt lose control of that dragon eventually, it was remarkable he’d held on this long as it is.  There is a memory in her head, a memory of someone named Leaf, talking about warging into dragons. Rhaegal would eventually consume Rhaegar, and two would eventually become one dragon. Maybe it was a fitting end for the mad man to become a real dragon, maybe he would find peace at last?

 

She has no idea where he’s lurking right now, she hears him occasionally, gliding around the tower hiding somewhere in the tree line below. If this was what fairytales were about she wanted no part in them, because she had an unsettlingly feeling that people were going to get killed trying to save her.

“I should save myself,” she mutters aloud, “and not wait for another to risk their life for me.”

Yet Sansa for all her gifts did not possess the sure footedness her sister did, she couldn’t exactly climb down the side of the tower or escape down the stairs to the door below. Rhaegar cut her off when she tried that last time, he seemed content to keep her in that window.

Long ago when she first left Winterfell for the Red Keep, she never imagined her life to become this. Tortured and abused by the Lannisters, married off to a dornish prince and then kidnapped by a mad Targaryen.  Yet there was a shimmer in the back of her mind, a warm glow that fought off the chill of sorrow that weighed heavy on her heart. That dornishmen loved her for some reason she couldn’t recall, his face was so unfamiliar to her and yet when she looked upon him her heart clenched.  He must have done something remarkable to win her heart after all that she had been through over the years. Even if she never got her memories back, she imagined herself loving him again one day all the same.

“You know,” Sansa says aloud to no one in particular though she hoped Rhaegar could hear her, “The princesses in your fairytales might have survived on happy thoughts but this Princess is getting hungry.”

Then she saw it, a flash of silver hair shimmering in the sunset before it was swallowed up by another bought of clouds.

 _Aegon_ ….

He appears at the tree line, his lilac eyes meeting her gaze when he nods to his left and she spies the very Dornishmen she’d been pondering, her wayward sister and Jon.

“You have to play by the rules!” Sansa calls to them, “be careful!”

 

* * *

 

This was ridiculous.

“It’s like playing one of Sansa’s old fairytales games when we were children…granted she always made me be the dragon….”

“He’s mad,” Oberyn says darkly, “She’s right to caution us…if we do not play by his rules we will not survive this.”

Arya observes her sister’s husband with quiet understanding, she approved of this man though she did not know him well. She wanted her sister wed to a man who could protect her, and she hardly thought the silver haired prince to her right could do that. He was as green as rolling valleys of Highgarden, (when it wasn’t covered in snow that is) and though he was trying his best, he still needed more practice. Arya knew he meant well, but she just didn’t trust him to keep her sister safe. She wasn’t going to be around forever; she was going back to Braavos when this was all over.

“Look out!” Oberyn shouts as a spiked emerald tail swings in their direction.

Oberyn tucks and rolls to the side while Arya grabs Aegon by the sleeve at the last second and yanks him to the ground with her. “Idiot!” she hisses angrily at him, “Pay attention!”

“I was!” he snaps back, glaring at her.

“Well clearly neither of you were really paying attention if I had to warn you both…where’s your brother?” Oberyn asks, noting Jon’s sudden absence.

“There!” Arya spots him, lurking through the snow drifts and crouched low to the ground.

“Keep him busy!” Arya says, motioning to the angry looking dragon nearby, lurking just behind the tower. His tail curled around the base of it, his emerald gaze locked on the intruders before him. Before Oberyn could object she darts after her brother, leaving him with his nephew.

“Time to prove yourself boy,” Oberyn says, as he motions for his nephew to follow him.

They advance on him together, swords drawn as they do what they can to distract the dragon from what the other two are doing.

 

* * *

 

Jon lurks beneath the tower wall, just under the window where Sansa waits.  “Fair lady,” he calls in hushed tones, “Let down your hair!”

“Do I _look_ like Princess Rhaenyra to you?” Sansa scowls down at her brother, “Just get me out of here!”

Jon grins up at her, and Sansa can’t help but smile too. Despite the insanity going on right now her brother was still able to smile.

A loud crash distracts her attention and his sister turns her gaze away from him and towards the scene behind him. Aegon is tossed like a ragdoll into a tree with one heavy swing of Rhaegal’s tail. Oberyn is fairing no better, though he is quicker on his feet and swift to dodge the dragon’s assaults.

“Aegon!” Sansa cries out, panic etched across her features.

“ _No_!” Jon hisses, grabbing Arya as they duck low behind a snow drift. If the Rhaegar sees them their finished.

Sansa claps a hand over her mouth but the dragon doesn’t seem to notice, his gaze and thoughts preoccupied with the Dornish Prince before him.

 

“Let me show you how my people deal with dragons,” Oberyn says, spear in hand. The dragon roars, fire erupting from his maw. Oberyn cries out, his arm narrowly burned by the heat of dragon fire. He hurls the spear but Rhaegar is quick, catching it with his teeth and snapping the wood between his jaws like it was nothing.

Oberyn pulls his blade, turning and twisting to the movement of the dragon before him. All he had to do was get one clean shot….

When Rhaenys Targaryen attacked Dorne three hundred years ago, the dornish people used spears to bring down her dragon. The secret though, was that one brave dornish knight jumped onto it’s back with the Targaryen queen still mounted and drove the blade down through the spine and into its heart. The knight perished in the attack, falling to his death along with the Targaryen queen. He knew what he had to do, he knew how to kill this dragon.

 

* * *

 

“Don’t!” he hears his nephew yell, “Rhaegal can’t help it…he’s not doing this of his own accord!”

“The dragon has gone wild!” Oberyn shouts back, “It must be done to protect everyone!”

“I said NO!” Aegon shouts as something whips right past Oberyn’s line of vision and slams into the ground beside him. Another spear, pulled from his horse’s saddle. He recognized the poison tainted blade that bore a snake twisting around the hilt of it. “ _You will not harm my dragon_!”

This is enough to distract Oberyn, enough that he doesn’t see the emerald tail swinging in his direction, slamming into him hard enough to knock the air from his body and rip the sword from his hand. He is very nearly eaten to, if he’d not thought to roll to the side as the dragon’s great maw came crashing down on him.

This display is enough to distract even Jon and Arya; everyone’s gaze was on the Targaryen Prince who very nearly killed his Uncle.

“NO!” Sansa shouts, her eyes wide and panicked as Oberyn scurries backwards across the snow, dodging the dragon’s teeth and claws.

Arya dives towards the dornish prince, needle outstretched. She drives it into the foot of the dragon as it slams down inches from Oberyn, it’s claws tearing up snow and dirt with each strike. Oberyn is gasping for breath, struggling to breath as pain etches across his face.  Arya screams out her battle cry, fear and rage mixed together in a symphony of what she hoped would fuel her bravery and slammed needle down into the dragon’s paw once more.

This was enough to distract Rhaegar, who was slowly no longer Rhaegar at all. The dragon was far too strong, and the mind of Rhaegar Targaryen was slipping away into nothingness.

“Sansa what are you---…” Jon trails off as his sister swings herself over the side of the tower, her arms shaking and terror etched across her features. She grabs onto anything she can, old twisted vines which break easily under her weight, the stones of the old tower are broken and tired, but they make for a good foothold here and there.

Yet…this is not a fairytale.

She tumbles from the tower with one wrong step and lands on her brother without ceremony. Luckily there is snow beneath them both, and Sansa, sitting astride her brother looks down at him and blushes feverishly, “Sorry.” Then she hears the roar of the dragon and the screams of her sister and jumps off him, snapping into action.

“NO!” she screams, charging towards Rhaegal as he pursues both her sister and her husband. “You get away from them, _right now_!”

“Sansa you can’t scold a dragon!” Jon yells, chasing after her.

“No,” Aegon calls triumphantly as he appears on Rhaegal’s back, “but you can tame one!”

Everybody freezes in place as the silver prince yanks back on the reigns still attached to Rhaegal and hangs on for dear life, calling out to the dragon, soothing it as best he can.  “Easy…easy Rhaegal…it’s over now, nobody’s going to hurt you.”

Somewhere between assault and agony Rhaegar lost control.  The dragon had resorted to its own instincts to defend itself. Jon laughs out loud at this realization, remembering his time as a direwolf vividly. Rhaegar was trapped inside that dragon, and had no control of it at all. Dragons were more powerful than direwolves, imbued with magic of their own. The magic would bind Rhaegar to the dragon and trap him for the rest of his days.

Aegon pulls Rhaegal away from the others while Sansa kneels next to Oberyn and promptly kisses him. He coughs, somewhere between shock and surprise. For a moment he wonders if Sansa remembers him now, if all this excitement was enough to bring her memories back. She looks upon him as she did before, raining kisses all over his face as she drags him into her arms and weeps.

“I’m fine flower…calm yourself,” he says, trying to sooth her.

“I almost lost you…” she whispers softly.

“I’m still here…come…let’s get out of this snow.”

Sansa nods and helps him up, wariness aching in her bones. Oberyn walks with a limp, leaning his weight on his wife. “You remember me now…” he asks softly, gazing down at her with warm dark eyes.

“No…” Sansa says softly, “but I remember why I love you now.”

He grins down at her and kisses her forehead, “Well…that’s a start.”

 

* * *

 

Much, much later and back at Dragonstone they sup on roasted boar and ale. Arya and the hound sit to one side talking of days gone by while Ellaria sits with Oberyn, tears glittering in her eyes as they talk of all that’s happened.  Sansa on the other hand stands on the terrace outside, watching the storm sweep over the ocean. Safe at last, clean and fed and properly dressed once more she feels more relaxed then she has in ages.

“Are you alright?” Dany asks, leaning against the open door as she watches Sansa.

“It’s been so long since I could just…relax…” Sans smiles faintly, “since I wasn’t scared of everything.”

“Are you still cross with Aegon?” she asks softly, knowing the answer without even having to ask. Sansa had never yelled at a Prince before, but she can check it off her list now. She understood his actions, but he could have gone about it differently. He nearly cost Oberyn his life, something Sansa now understands would have been devastating for her.

“He nearly got his Uncle killed,” Sansa scowls darkly.

“He was protecting his dragon,” Dany counters easily, “he recognized that Rhaegal was just defending himself…that my brother had lost control when no one else had. You husband was trying to kill one of my children…I don’t take to that kindly.”

“Your _child_ tried to _eat_ my husband,” Sansa says angrily.

“You husband tried to _murder_ my child,” Dany retorts with narrowed eyes, “He was so caught up in the heat of battle he didn’t recognize what was happening.”

“No…” Sansa relents quietly, “I suppose not.”

Dany opens her mouth to argue and then snaps it shut, blinking at the Stark girl. “You agree with me?”

“Everyone was scared,” Sansa says, “Nobody knew what was happening…it was an easy mistake to make.”

“One I hope we are never faced with again,” Ellaria chimes in, stepping up behind Sansa. She places a warm hand on her shoulder and smiles at both women, “Sansa…let’s go back to Sunspear. I know you want to stay here…but it would be safer back home.”

“No,” Sansa frowns, shaking her head, “I’ve come this far…I’m not turning back now Ellaria.”

“Maybe you would be safer there,” Dany adds, “Away from the war…you could return when it’s over.”

“I’m not a coward,” Sansa snaps with a frown at the Targaryen queen, “I’m not afraid of fire and blood.”

Dany smiles wanly, “Our family motto.”

“Yes,” Sansa nods, “and I’m not going to cower away from it. I may not be able to swing a sword like my aunt could but I’m every bit the warrior she ever was.”

“Yes,” Dany smiles at her, “I was just wondering when you were going to realize that.”

 

* * *

 

In the days that followed chaos ensued. Once the dust settled the real work began, and it was time to take on the rest of Westeros. Sansa went North and took up her seat along with Oberyn, Arya and Jon. The whole of the North was rising up behind Daenerys and her dragons, led by their wardenness. For a time their was peace, but other nights their was fire in the sky as well as on the ground. It was one of those evenings that Sansa sat nervously in her bed chambers, staring out at the horizon from the window as the cold winter wind billowed against her face.

"Sansa," Oberyn says from his place on their bed. He pulls the blankets up over him tighter to ward off the chill, "Sansa you'll make yourself sick, come away from the window and close it."

"The sky is red tonight," Sansa says quietly, "More fires."

"That's what Targaryen's do," Oberyn tells her, "Fire and blood."

"I don't like war," Sansa states plainly, "I don't want to be in a war."

"You sound like Doran," Oberyn sighs as Sansa settles in beside him. She puts out the candles and lies back, the two of them lying in the darkness together while the winter wind howls outside.

"Doran is very smart," Sansa observes with a half smile. "I think I don't mind being likened to him."

"He will avoid war until he has no other choice," Oberyn observes, "sometimes that is not wise. My brother is no warrior."

"No," Sansa says as she turns on her side, "I married the warrior brother."

"You did," he grins at her, trailing a hand through her auburn hair. She liked this, having him with her in Winterfell, lying by her side in bed while the winter storm howled outside. She wanted this everyday with him, but somehow deep down she knew that wouldn't happen. 

"How long will you stay with me here?" Sansa asks softly after a long pause, fear at the back of her throat. She could work alone, she could take on this world by herself as she's done countless times before but it was nice to have him here with her.

"As long as you want me here," he tells her, "Although I know my brother is formidable in the court, I worry that is where his capabilities end. If war comes to Dorne...I will have to go to him."

"I know," Sansa agrees, "I wouldn't keep you from him either."

"If you need me here you know I'll come," he tells her honestly, "I helped you win back your home...I will always be here to help you keep it should you need me."

"I always need you," Sansa grins at him, especially when she sees the flicker of desire in his eyes.

"Always?" he grins wickedly, turning so that his body presses hers down into the mattress, sliding his warm lips against her neck.

"Always," Sansa breathes, her body arching against his and her eyes sliding closed against the pleasure.

* * *

Somewhere in another part of the keep Arya Stark lies awake. Her half brother Jon, who was now for all intensive purposes her cousin was downstairs practicing with his long sword. She tries to ignore the sound but fails, and finds herself joining him. At first she only watches, joy filling her heart to see him again. 

"I missed you," Arya says aloud, watching him thoughtfully.

"I missed you too," he grins at her, "How have you been?"

"Busy...tired...." Arya ponders aloud, "I've been to Braavos...and I've traveled Westeros. So many stories I have for you...so many."

"I've some stories for you too," he grins at her, "Stories of wights and giants and wildlings. You wouldn't believe the things I've seen out there."

"Giants?" Arya's eyes widen, "Really?" she grins at him excitedly. 

"Really," he laughs as he tosses her a wooden sword and picks up one of his own, "Do you want too?"

"Yes," Arya says though she tosses the wooden one aside and reaches for a sharpened blade, "but with real swords. I've learned so much in Braavos and I'm certainly not playing with wooden swords anymore."

"As you wish," he grins and takes up a sword of his own, "I will warn you however," he begins, "It won't be fair. I've had a great deal of practice myself."

"We'll see about that," Arya grins at him as she takes up her stance and readies herself for sparing.

The two dance with swords in their hands, like it was the old days and the world was right once more. They smiled like they hadn't lost everything and fought to get it back, like they lived inside their own world and nobody would ever bother them again. It was a song as old as their acquaintance, a song they've sang together for years and years and will sing it for years to come.

* * *

 

Across Westeros stood Aegon Targaryen, fifth of his name among the wreckage of the Karstark keep. The Northern bannermen aided his own with the tracking and arrest of all those involved in the kidnapping of Sansa Stark as well as the plot to usurp his aunt Queen Daenerys. It was a bitter battle and as the field behind him blazes with light as the fire consumes all that it touches, he thinks that maybe he's gone a bit to far. Dany had warned him to be cautious with Rhaegal, that if he let his temper get away from him he'd end up recreating another Harrenhal. His mind was elsewhere though, on a red haired maid who spurned him. She was married to his Uncle, he knew nothing could come of it but it wasn't like it didn't hurt anyways.

 

_"No Aegon," Sansa says softly, "I'm sorry...please..." she pleas as she gently pushes him away from her, stepping out of his reach, "I am wed to your uncle and this is wrong."_

_"He would let you go if you asked it of him," he says quietly, "Sansa if your not happy with him..."_

_"You nearly killed him!" she snaps suddenly, anger blazing in her eyes, "You nearly killed him and risked my life in the process and you expect me to abandon him for you?"_

_"No," he winces, looking sheepish, "No that isn't what I meant. I wasn't going to hurt him...I wanted to get his attention I never meant to actually hit him. Rhaegal was just frightened...he wasn't listening to me."_

_"Of course he wasn't!" Sansa all but shouts, "His wife was being kept in a tower by an angry dragon and you expected him to be completely rational at that point?"_

_"You wouldn't have been in that tower if he'd been taking care of you as he should!" Aegon growls back at her, "You belong in a keep where your safe, not out on the battlefield."_

_"He allows me my freedom because I ask it of him," Sansa says pointedly, "If I had been wed to you would you keep me bound in a keep?" Sansa quirks an eyebrow at him, "would you keep me from my home and my people when they needed me most?"_

_Aegon is silent as he stares at her, it was all the answer she needed._

_"Then you know nothing about me," Sansa says quietly, almost a little hurt, "and that will be your downfall with any bride you take. A piece of advice for your queen Aegon," she tells him as she turns to leave, "never try and control her, she is your equal in all things...do not think her  just a rug beneath your feet or a tool for your bloodline."_

He was such a bastard.

He grimaces at the memory and sheathes his sword, a sword he feels he should not have. The golden hilt glittered in the firelight, as did the ruby inlay on the handle. When Howland Reed first turned up with Blackfyre he wasn't sure what to make of it. He had smuggled both Blackfyre and Dark Sister into hiding within his estate and kept them there for years.  Now that he carried the sword it was much heavier then he ever thought it would be.

Could he be King one day? Could he live up to his namesake?

He had no idea.

Distracting his mind from thoughts of Sansa he turns his mind towards Dany. It was expected in tradition that he marry her, but he did not want too. He did not want to follow in the footsteps of those who came before him, he wanted to change tactics, mix it up a bit. Madness runs in his bloodline, so perhaps his bloodline needed to be cleansed, perhaps he needed to break tradition. 

* * *

**End Book 1**

**A/N:** So the next chapter we'll be transitioning into Book 2 which is called _In the Dead Of Winter_. There will be a six year jump into the future where we find out what's been going on with the characters slowly but surely over the course of that book. 

 

 

 

 


	55. BOOK 2: In The Dead Of Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok so folks this chapter is quiet long. It's set six years into the future after the issue with Rhaegar. A lot of things have changed and the characters have gotten older, etc. This chapter begins part two of the story, which will ultimately lead to part three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game Of Thrones.

Six years later…

 

Snows blinds her vision as she turns in a circle, searching for any sign of life. Winter has descended on the seven kingdoms, a heavy cold winter full of darkness and fear. They’ve spent the last two months searching for a lone silver dragon with emerald eyes.  The war was over, but not without heavy losses on both sides. The battle for the Iron throne had been a gruesome one, one which Sansa imagined Dany would spend the rest of her days regretting parts of it just as Aegon the conqueror no doubt regretted his assault on Harrenhal. With Dany as queen, the kingdom was finally at peace. With the Iron throne secure Aegon had many tasks at hand to get the kingdom settled, one of which was to catch a wild dragon that was terrorizing the countryside.

“Aegon!” Sansa shouts, searching for her companion.

She was wardenness of the North now, and spent her days in Winterfell dealing with the debt of unpaid taxes and he reconstruction of her family home. Part of her time was spent with Oberyn in Sunspear, split between her two homes Sansa was always under a lot of stress. Oberyn expected nothing of her though, to which she was grateful. He had Ellaria besides, and all the daughters he could ever want. Sansa was not required to provide him heirs or needed for any duties as a Princess of Dorne. So she spent her days where she was needed most, and travelled between the two kingdoms.

“I’m here!” Aegon shouts, slumping his way through snow drifts, “I’ve lost him again…damn that dragon!”

“He’s just a baby Aegon,” Sansa calls back to him, spitting snow from mouth and brushing it from her face as the wind whips it up from the ground in swirls. Despite the heavy furs she wore, thick and layered around her she was still cold. “Let’s get back to Winterfell…this is a lost cause. We’ll never find him in this storm.”

“He’s eating what’s left of the livestock…the kingdom will starve if we don’t find him,” Aegon shakes his head warily. He was much taller now, his body filling out as he grows into himself.  Over the course of the years their friendship has grown despite her rejection of his advances. Eventually though as all things do come to pass, she found herself in love with the silver haired prince. He was a good and loyal friend, and when Oberyn wasn't there to set things right he could help her instead. That isn't to say Oberyn was absent from her side, but his duty to Doran kept him busy at times during the war for Dany's throne.  

They trudge back to Winterfell where they hear the agitated cries of Rhaegal, huddled beneath his wings to fend off the snow. They would on any ordinary circumstance store him below in the crypts of the Stark family as they’d done centuries before when the Targaryen’s were in power. However, the castle is old and still being rebuilt, and the parts of the crypt where they could have kept him are no longer feasible.

“He’s going to freeze out here,” Sansa says, motioning towards Rhaegal.

“He’ll be alright for one night,” Aegon says, patting Rhaegal’s leg as they pass.

Inside the keep it’s much warmer and they are able to peel away the soaked fur layers of clothing they wore outside. Sansa smiles faintly at Aegon, helps him out of his outerwear and hands them over the servants to be washed.

“We’ll catch him eventually,” Sansa reassures him as he shakes the snow from his hair.

“I certainly hope so, this is embarrassing…” Aegon tells her with a sigh, dropping down into a chair at the dinner table.  They are served plates of food as Arya and Jon join them, followed by the house staff and servants too. Sansa brings all manner of people to her table just as her Father did before her, all are equal at this table save for the King. Or in this case, the queen whom is not present but busy back at Kings Landing.

It was really difficult not to roll her eyes every time she watches Aegon and Jon moon over Arya. Over the years, Aegon had taken a liking to Arya. At first she hated him, and eventually had a begrudging respect for him. Yet Arya was a willful woman and did not want marriage, she wanted to be free. Jon on the other hand, was busy helping Sansa mind the keep. He longed for the wall but because he was Dany's nephew he had other duties to uphold. Sansa had a sinking feeling he would be displeased with the news she had for him, as she herself was worried about it. Dany was trying to help, but as she warned Dany months ago, it may not go over so well with the rest of the North as it would with Jon. Jon is the type of man who could take things in stride, the North would probably burn the kingdom to the ground in an uproar. 

* * *

 

“Jon,” Sansa says quietly as they eat, “Dany wishes to name you warden of the North…I assume she’s told you already.”

“Yes,” Jon agrees with a nod, “We spoke of it.”

“A prince and a Warden,” Aegon muses aloud with a grin at his younger half-brother, “Lucky you.”

“Not nearly so lucky as you dear brother,” he smirks at Aegon, “You’ll be king soon.”

“I hope not nearly so soon,” Aegon says quietly, “Dany’s still quite healthy.”

“Looking forward to marrying your aunt are you?” Arya cuts in, and her tone is scathing. Sansa tries to keep out of whatever it is going on between the two of them. Sometimes she can’t help it, sometimes she aches for Aegon when the hurt crosses his features. It's a silly thing to do honestly, and she feels silly doing it. Arya cares nothing for Aegon but he is Sansa's friend and her heart goes out to him, perhaps even more then her heart though she would fight until her last breath to smother the feeling.

“No,” Aegon snaps back, glaring at Arya as if willing her to look at him. She won’t look at him though, instead she stares at her plate. “Looking forward to running off back to Braavos and leaving your sister to do all the work alone?”

“ _No_ ,” Arya snaps back angrily, glaring at him now. Just looking at him seems to please Aegon, and so she looks away again. “Bastard.”

“ _Enough_ ,” Sansa snaps, banging down her goblet, “Enough…. _please_ …” she says softer, shifting her gaze between them both. "Your acting like children. Arya it is tradition that he wed his aunt, you cannot mock him for his beliefs, it's disrespectful. He is your _crown prince_."

"No it's fine," Aegon waves Sansa off, "I'm not particularly fond of that tradition honestly."

All three of the Starks stare at Aegon skeptically.

"It honestly isn't," he looks between them all, "would _you_ want to marry your aunt?"

Jon pulls a face and Sansa grimaces at the idea. Only Arya voices her thoughts, "That's disgusting."

"Arya," Sansa scolds quietly.

"It is," Arya says, "and the whole bloody North thinks it too, so do the Riverlands...the west...the east....it's not what's done in Westeros."

"Which is why I shan't be doing it," Aegon says, looking amused by her outburst. 

* * *

 

In her private chambers she writes to her husband, something that sooths her when she’s under heavy stress. She longs for Sunspear but is trapped in Winterfell until Jon takes over as Warden of the North.

 

_Oberyn,_

_It’s cold as ever here in Winterfell. I am busy with preparations for tomorrow night, all the houses of the North gather in the great hall and bring to me all the news of the land as well as any complaints or troubles brought to them. Jon is my hand so to speak, much similar to what Dany has in Aegon. I give the orders and Jon carries them out, so my job is a little less stressful._

_I miss you._

_I’m lonely in this cold place though it is my home. I long for Sunspear, for the Water Gardens and for your company. I only ever seem to smile anymore when your around, in the frozen North where I am now, it feels as though all the happiness has been bled from the land leaving only darkness and bitter cold in its wake.  Rhaegal has been uneasy these past few weeks, I think he senses the change in the land as well. Something feels off about it, but I can’t put my finger on what that is. I must go now my love, write to me soon. I long to hear from you._

_Sansa Stark Martell_

_Lady of Winterfell, Wardenness of the North and Princess of Dorne_

Rolling up the parchment she seals it with the Stark seal and sets it aside, opting to wait till morning to send it by raven to Dorne.  Instead she readies herself for bed, combing out her long auburn hair and changing into her bed clothes. Tomorrow was the gathering, tomorrow…tomorrow….

 

* * *

 

Tomorrow came quicker then she intended it too.

In fact, tomorrow arrived when Arya burst through her bedroom door telling her to wake up. Sansa jerked awake, her body still thick with sleep.

“Arya…” Sansa groans as her younger sister bounces onto her bed.

“Time to get up _my lady_ ,” she says with a grin, prodding her sister gently, “It’s the day of the gathering.”

“Has the storm passed?” Sansa says sleepily, climbing out of bed.

“Yes,” Arya smiles at her, “I’m going down with Jon to meet the bannermen.”

“No you will not,” Sansa says quickly, “you are a lady and you will remain indoors and let Aegon and Jon go about their business,” Sansa says pointedly, “besides that…your drive them both barmy.”

“Am not,” Arya protests as Sansa quickly dresses herself.

“Are too,” Sansa counters quickly, “Your mad for Jon and Aegon’s mad for you. You’re leading them both on.”

“Jon doesn’t even know I exist half the time,” Arya says quietly, and Sansa’s heart aches for her.

“Aegon knows you exist,” Sansa offers softly.

“So I’ve noticed…I wish he’d notice me a little less if I’m being honest,” Arya despairs quietly, “I don’t want to be queen.”

“Then don’t,” Sansa says, and Arya frowns at her thoughtfully.

“You’ve got that face again,” Arya says, “the one where your drifting off into your mind and you’re not really listening to me anymore.”

“I’m not…I’ve heard every word you’ve said,” Sansa protests.

“I’m not stupid you know,” Arya says, “I know you love Aegon.”

“I do not,” Sansa says, though the protest was half-hearted at best. She loved him with every breath in her body, but he would never love her.

“Besides…nothing would ever come of it anyways,” Sansa adds quietly, “Regardless of the situation, nothing would ever come of it.”

“Because your married? Honestly, do you really believe Oberyn’s totally celibate while your away or are you just pretending he is?” Arya says dryly.

“I don’t mean that,” Sansa frowns at Arya, “Just…leave it Arya.”

“Sansa…” Arya frowns at her sister.

“I said _leave it_!” Sansa snaps angrily at her.

“Bloody hell you really do love him don’t you? And what…you just stepped aside when you knew he loved me…let me go headlong into that didn’t you? Just going to keep it to yourself and never say a word and let me marry him and have babies with him...as if i'd ever consider such a foul thing but _bloody hell_ Sansa!"

“Yes,” Sansa says quietly and she’s thinks she’s completely shocked Arya with her honesty. “Didn’t really believe all that did you? Well that’s what I was doing…and what I will continue to do. I want you to be happy and Aegon…Aegon can make you happy.”

“I don’t _want_ Aegon!” Arya shouts and storms out, slamming the door roughly behind her.

“Liar,” Sansa says to the empty air as she listens to Arya’s retreating footsteps.

 

* * *

 

Down in the courtyard the storm has passed, and Sansa wakes her way across the frozen ground towards where Jon is shoveling snow away from the gates and Aegon is brushing the snow from Rhaegal’s scales. She can hear their conversation, naturally it’s about Arya and marriage and whose going to be queen of the seven kingdoms if Aegon refuses to take a wife.

“Keep that up and they’ll start calling you Aegon the Unwed,” Sansa smirks at Aegon as she approaches the two men.

“Aegon the _Celibate_ ,” Jon chimes in grinning.

“Aegon the _Pure_ ,” Sansa adds teasingly.

“I’m hardly celibate brother,” Aegon grins at Jon’s disgusted grimace.

“I really… _really_ don’t want to hear that thank you,” Jon says, waving Aegon off as he pitches more snow away from the gates.

“Your seven and twenty now Aegon,” Sansa tells him, “you have to take a wife eventually.”

“When you convince your sister to wed me I shall,” he tells her and she turns away from him so that he won’t see the look on her face. Aegon has no idea, and Aegon never will. She doesn’t want things awkward between them, she couldn’t bare it.

Jon’s smart however, Jon sees the pain on Sansa’s face and quickly changes the subject, “The gathering’s tonight. Are we announcing my take over this evening then?”

“Yes,” Sansa says to him, grateful for the change in topic, “Aegon I believe you have a missive from her grace the queen as well?”

“I do,” Aegon nods, “I’ll deliver it to the people and then return to Dragonstone after.”

“Rhaegal will be thankful for it I think,” Sansa smiles up at the emerald dragon.

 _And so will I_ …

The thought crosses her mind quietly and she quickly smothers it, keeping the expression on her face pleasant. “I’ll leave you both too it then…I’m going to the kitchens to organize the feast for tonight. If Arya comes down here trying to join you two to meet the bannermen…”

“I’ll pull her up onto my horse and she can ride with me…nobody would question a lady’s presence if escorted,” Aegon counters her smoothly. He was always so good at playing the game of courtier, he knew Sansa’s every move before even she did.

“Thank you,” Sansa smiles faintly at him, “I knew I could count on you to keep her out of trouble.”

“I hardly think that’s what she had in mind though,” Jon laughs a little, “More like bar her inside the keep and don’t let her out.”

“I’m no governess Jon,” Sansa points out, “but I am the head of this household and I cannot allow Arya to run wild.”

“She’s three and twenty Sansa,” Jon protests, leaning on his shovel to look at her, “When are you going to start treating her like an adult and not a child?”

“When she starts acting like one Jon,” Sansa says and turns away, sweeping back up towards the keep.

 

* * *

 

The great hall is crowded and noisy with laughter and conversation. Sansa is seated at the Stark table, overlooking the crowd. She sits in the seat her Father once sat in, dressed in Martell colors, silver glittering crystals sewn into the material of the gown and fashioned to represent the sun and spear of the family crest.  Her long auburn hair is swept up and braided back, hanging in long fiery tresses down her back, a thin gold circlet resting atop her head.

“Your highness,” calls one bannermen, “Shall we begin the proceedings?”

“Aye,” Sansa nods to him and then glances at Jon. He stands and the room hushes, all eyes and ears turned in his direction.

“My lords and Ladies of the North, Lady Stark welcomes you to our home, and wishes to begin with a missive from our noble queen, her grace Queen Daenerys.”

Aegon stands at his own table, situated on the northern side of the room where the table is reserved for the royal family. All eyes turn to him as he begins, “Good evening to all,” he says as he looks at them, “I bring news from the Red Keep so that all bannermen and their Lady will know of it. A series of kidnappings has been happening within the seven kingdoms. People have gone missing in the dead of night, sometimes even in broad daylight. If anyone has anything to report, speak your peace now. Otherwise the queen advises that all citizens remain indoors at night, bar all doors and windows and report any suspicious happenings to Lady Stark immediately.”

Sansa meets Aegon’s gaze, nodding as she looks to her bannermen thoughtfully.

“I’ve got something to report,” one says, standing, “It’s partly why I travelled all this way…”

“Then speak your peace my lord,” Sansa says to him calmly.

“The whole village is gone,” he says, “An entire village….my family too…. all of ‘em went missing when I rode out with me wagon to Kings Landing not a fortnight ago. I returned with the gold I’d earned selling me crops and no one was there…the whole place was deserted. Fire’s all burnt out, people left their doors wide open…food sittin’ on the kitchen table like they’d all only just sat down for supper and all…”

  
“ _All_ of them?” Sansa says, alarm streaking through her, “You found no one…not even bodies?”

“Nothing your highness,” the old man says, bowing his head respectfully.

Sansa glances at Aegon and then back at the elderly man, “have you reported this to your leis lord?”

“He has your highness,” says the bannermen who owns the lands in question, “I sent word by raven not three days ago. I wondered why you hadn’t responded,” he blushes faintly, “Forgive me your highness…bird must have been lost in the storm.”

Sansa leans back in her seat, turning her gaze to Aegon once more, “Your grace…I wish to send out a group of armed men to investigate…would you agree to that?”

“I would,” Aegon nods, “and I will go with them. I wish to see this village for myself.”

“Then it is settled,” Sansa says and holds her hand up for silence as the room erupts into conversation and worry.  “We must move onto the next case of business…as you all know, I am both a Princess of Dorne and the wardenness of the North. Her grace the queen does not wish my time to be split so precariously between my home here in Winterfell and the one I have in Sunspear. She worries that I spend far too much time on my own away from my husband and has decided to name my successor. In a month’s time, his highness Prince Jon Targaryen will take over as warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell.”

For a single moment, she thought they’d all bought it.

And then…the yelling started.

“Prince Jon is every bit the Stark that I am,” Sansa says coolly, keeping her composure despite the angry outbursts in the room. Her voice carries over them all, and she retains her dignity with simple grace, “and I am certain he will do well as warden of the North. He is the son of Lyanna Stark, and winter is in his blood as much as it’s in mine.”

Her Father never had this much trouble with the bannermen. Sure they could get unruly and rude, but his commanding voice alone would have silenced them. Instead it’s Jon’s sharp voice that cracks through the madness and hushes the room. Even Sansa takes pause to look at him as he speaks.

“I am Jon Targaryen…the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. My blood is of the winter as well as fire. I was raised by your former Lord, Eddard Stark whom I considered a father figure all my life.  Lord Stark would never stand for your insolence and neither will I, nor your disrespect for Lady Stark. You will hold your tongues or you will be removed from this hall, do I make myself clear?”

Not so much an angry grunt could be heard throughout the room, and Sansa found herself quiet pleased with Jon. When all the complaints had been heard and the feast had been finished, most of the bannermen went to bed while others sat around in the great hall deep in their cups. Sansa on the other hand pulled on the heaviest fur cloak she could find and made her way out to the heart tree in the godswood.

What she did there nobody really knew, but some people say they heard her talking…to whom they had no idea.

In reality she was talking to Bran through the heart tree, a trick she’d learned she was capable over the years. Her brother was alive and beyond the wall, a secret nobody but she, Jon, Arya and Aegon knew of.

“Brother…” Sansa murmurs to herself, “Bran…can you hear me?”

Her hands are warm against the tree, her eyes closed as she concentrates, “Bran…bad things are happening here in Winterfell…whole villages are going missing without a trace….do you know anything?”

It was odd that he wasn’t answering her, he always answered her. She kept trying, and wondered if maybe she was just too tired to try and reach him tonight.

“He won’t be answering you tonight,” says a gravelly voice that she hasn’t heard in ages it seems.

“Leaf!” Sansa says, standing so she can turn to face the her. Leaf sits above her high in the heart tree, an eyebrow quirked down at her.

“I’ve come to warn you…the magic in the air has smothered the power of the tree… Bran can’t reach you now. I’ve come to warn you of the danger coming to Westeros…the white walkers have breached the wall.”

“White walkers?” Sansa blinks up at Leaf, “I…those don’t exist Leaf…”

“I’ve lived for a very long time Sansa,” Leaf says, “I’ve seen centuries of things you’ll say don’t exist. I tell you they do….and they are coming…and by the thousands. They have an army of the dead behind them, and army so numerous nothing can stand in its wake. Only dragon fire will hold it at bay.”

“How can they bring people back from the dead?” Sansa says, looking alarmed, “and if they’re here why has no one seen them?”

“Because no one has ever lived to tell the tale,” Leaf says solemnly, her gaze mournful as she looks down upon Sansa, “Flee…save yourselves before it’s too late. I must go now…goodbye Sansa.”

“No wait!” Sansa calls, the crackling of tree branches behind her tell her that someone is approaching.

“Talking to yourself again?” Aegon muses aloud, smiling faintly at her as he approaches.

“It was Leaf…she came with a warning…she said white walkers are coming…by the thousands even.”

“Those are a myth Sansa,” Aegon says tilting his head to one side, “Come back inside with me…it’s freezing out here.”

“She told me dragon fire was the only way to hold them at bay…” Sansa tells him, “Aegon…Leaf is never wrong….if she says they’re real…then they’re real and they are headed this way.”

Aegon frowns at her, “Your serious aren’t you?”

“Aegon think about it…whole villages have gone missing without a trace. The white walkers…. they’ve got some kind of magic that they can use to bring people back from the dead. What if their killing the villagers and then just bringing them back to use them as slaves…soldiers…I don’t know?”

“Sansa,” he says, catching her by her elbows and pulling her close, “Your half frozen out here…and your exhausted. Let’s talk of this in the morning when you’ve rested. Leaf from what I recall made everything sound like doom…perhaps it’s not nearly as bad as she makes it out to be.”

“ _Why_ do you never listen to me!” Sansa all but shouts at him, pulling her arms free and she steps around him and storms back towards the keep. “I believe her Aegon…if something is coming then we need to be ready.”

 

* * *

 

One Month Later…

 

Kings Landing is busy with life and noise. Sansa arrives in port by ship because it was a lot faster than riding on horseback all the way from Winterfell. She could have easily gone with Aegon as he had offered, but her pride wouldn’t allow it. By dragon she could have reached King’s Landing in a few hours, but she couldn’t bear to spend all that time with Aegon alone right now.

Inside the Red Keep she admires the decorations and changes that Dany has made. The day she took the throne she had everything even remotely Lannister or Baratheon burned.

It made for a fantastic bonfire.

Now the halls are decorated in black and red, the Targaryen crest embroidered on the banners. In the throne room, the Iron throne is flanked by the skulls of dragons long dead, brought up from the basement where all of the old Targaryen things had been stored. Balarion’s skull was by far the biggest, when Sansa stood next to it (and she was a fairly tall person already) she hardly reached its upper teeth.

“Beautiful isn’t it?” Dany says as she enters the throne room, flanked by officials. She dismisses them and comes to stand next to Sansa, “you don’t know how difficult it was to get that skull back up here from all the way down in the basement.”

Sansa nods, sliding her hands over the smooth black polished surface, “It’s gorgeous.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Dany grins and her and motions her to follow, “Come…I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise for me?” Sansa says, quirking an eyebrow as she follows Dany up into the keep, towards the Rhaenys wing.

“Yes,” Dany grins at her, “For all your hard work…I had her sent for…I thought you might like some company while you’re staying here in the Red Keep.”

“Staying…” Sansa stops and stares at Dany, “You promised…you said I could go back to Sunspear…Jon’s taken over at Winterfell.”

Dany grimaces and then recovers quickly, “I’m truly sorry…” she says quietly, “I know…I just need you here for a bit longer. Jon’s taken over at Winterfell which is what was planned, but you know these people…you know this keep…you know the liars from the trustworthy people and I had hoped…I had hoped perhaps you could help me with them.”

Sansa sighs, rubbing her face tiredly, “What about Sir Jorah?”

“His illness has taken a turn for the worst,” Dany says quietly, and Sansa’s heart aches for her.

“I’m sorry…” Sansa says softly, “I know it must be hard.”

“He’s been with me since the beginning…since Pentos when I first met my beloved Drogo.”

Sansa nods as they walk, slowing to an easy stride as Dany tells her of her days in Pentos before travelling with the Khal Drogo and his Khalisar.

“Your brother sounded…” Sansa trails off, struggling to find a word that didn’t sound rude but found none.

“Cruel?” Dany says softly, “He could be…but Viserys was just desperate…he despaired of it all…they laughed at him in the streets and called him the beggar King…he was lost and helpless and unable to change our fate. He was cruel to me because sorrow and anger were eating him alive. It doesn’t make it alright that he took his rage out on me…but I think he also blamed me for most of it…he thought our Mother would be alive still if I hadn’t been born…he believed I killed her.”

They step into the sitting room of the Rhaenys wing, where a dark haired woman sits with her back to them, her arms spread across the back of a blush seat.

“Ellaria!” Sansa shouts in glee as she rushes towards her.

Ellaria turns and grins at her, before standing to greet her. “Sansa,” she smiles, kissing her cheeks, “How have you been?”

“I’ve missed you so much…how are you here right now? Is Oberyn here?” Sansa says, glancing around behind her.

“No I’m afraid not,” Ellaria smiles faintly at her, “Oberyn received your letter a few weeks back and worried you might be lonely. I was bored and he was busy so he sent me here to keep you company.”

“Well I’m grateful for it,” Sansa grins, hugging Ellaria to her.

“I have gifts for you,” Ellaria grins against Sansa’s ear, “Someone was not home for her name day.”

“I’m so sorry about that,” Sansa says as the two giggle and talk amongst each other.

Dany shifts her gaze between the two before she says, “Dinner is at seven…I hope to see you both there…I’ve got paperwork to do ladies…so if you will excuse me.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Sansa says as she turns to Dany, “I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“No it’s alright,” Dany grins at her, “I know what it is to be happy to see your family. Speaking of which…when is my nephew coming home?”

“Just another day or two I think,” Sansa tells her, “He’s helping Jon get the bannermen in order.”

Dany nods with a sigh, “Well that would be nice…” she tells Sansa quietly, “I do get tired of eating dinner alone.”

 

* * *

 

That evening after dinner Sansa lay in bed beside Ellaria, giggling as Sansa opens her name day presents. Oberyn had gifted her with a necklace of sapphires and a hair clip to match. Ellaria had a gown of blue sand silk to match made for her and some of Oberyn’s daughters have sent her a few things. There was a bottle of sweet smelling perfume, a dornish made dagger with a snake hilt which she could hide cleverly in her bodice, and a few other odds and ends. Prince Doran sent her a cloak in the Martell colors embroidered with the sun and spear of the family crest. Sansa was proud to wear that crest, and she loved all her gifts.

“You seem troubled my love,” Ellaria says, watching Sansa paw at the cloak Doran gave her.

“I have such sweet family,” she says softly, “I’m so blessed to have you all in my life.”

“We are blessed to have you,” Ellaria smiles faintly, “though I think something else is troubling you.”

Sansa is quiet for so long Ellaria could easily guess she is troubled before Sansa says softly, “I’m in love.”

“With?” Ellaria widens her eyes, looking perfectly curious, “I hope he is handsome.”

“It’s not funny Ellaria,” Sansa says shamefully, sadly, “I love him and I shouldn’t.”

“Who?” Ellaria presses, “and you know Oberyn will not mind.”

“I know,” Sansa frowns at her, “but…Aegon…I just….I couldn’t stop myself…it just happened…and I loved him without even realizing it and he doesn’t love me and he’s in love with Arya and everything is _so_ screwed up…”

“Oh my love,” Ellaria says softly, hugging her, “I know love can be troublesome. Oberyn would never hold it against you should you love another…the seven knows he’s loved many in his life.”

“But his own nephew?” Sansa winces, “Oh by the seven…” Sansa groans, “He’s my nephew…it’s just so….so…”

“ _Targaryen_?” Ellaria grins at her, “How very… _very_ Targaryen of you my love.”

“Not funny,” Sansa tells her though a smile was curving her lips.

“It is funny though,” Ellaria giggles, “you fret so much about loyalty to Oberyn…he would not mind that you found someone to warm your bed at night if he could not be there to do so my love…he would not want you to be alone.”

“Well I was going to go home and resolve that issue but now Dany wants me to stay here a while longer…”

“She cannot hold you here unless you allow it Sansa,” Ellaria tells her pointedly, “you are a Princess of Dorne. Only Doran and Oberyn can give you an order.”

“Technically…queen of the _seven_ kingdoms…not six…” Sansa smiles faintly at Ellaria, “even if Dorne won’t admit it.”

“Never,” Ellaria grins at her.

“and I wasn’t ordered to stay…Dany asked me to.”

“Something else is bothering you isn’t it?” Ellaria says, “usually If I can get you to tell me what’s on your mind you relax…and yet your still so tense…what is it?”

“I’m not pregnant,” Sansa says after a pause, “and I dreamed…you know how I have premonitions? I dreamed once…that I had two sons.”

“If you wanted children all you had to was ask,” Ellaria points out, “Mind you…Oberyn is very good at producing daughters…sons not so much.”

“I know,” Sansa frowns…but one of those sons…he was silver haired,” Sansa says quietly.

“Which means you must have a child by a Targaryen at one point…considering Daenerys doesn’t have the right parts for the job and your cousin Jon doesn’t have the right complexion or hair color…Aegon must be the Father.”

“He loves Arya…he told me as much, he’s been trying to get her to marry him for ages now,” Sansa sighs heavily.

“Funny…I remember when you first met he was absolutely mad for you,” Ellaria observes, “I wonder what changed.”

“No idea,” Sansa sighs heavily, and she knows she's lying, “It just did.”

 

* * *

 

The following days are spent mostly with Dany, guiding her through the dangerous waters of the Westerosi court. Sansa’s become a pro at this, experienced as she is.

“That man over there…that man is Tyrion Lannister…the one you gave Casterly Rock over too,” Sansa tells her softly, “he’s a good man…the one I wed when I was younger before I was wed to Oberyn. I’m honestly surprised he’s here…he hates Kings Landing…to many bad memories.”

“Bad memories regardless, I am here,” Tyrion says as he approaches them, “Your grace…your highness…” he bows to each in turn, “It is an honor to see you both again.”

“How fairs Casterly Rock Lord Lannister,” Dany asks him politely.

“Oh please,” Tyrion says, “Lord Lannister was my Father…call me Tyrion if it please you your grace. Casterly Rock fairs well, Lannisport is struggling in this heavy winter however. I have been meaning to discuss with you a matter of disappearances reported within Lannisport and the surrounding area…”

“More disappearances?” Sansa asks, alarmed.

“More?” Tyrion raises his eyebrows, “Your highness has there been others?”

“This is not a topic of conversation suited for court your highness, Lord Lannister…I would ask you join me in the small council room later on to discuss this further.”

“Of course your grace,” Tyrion bows, his gaze catching Sansa’s worriedly before he turns away to join the court once more.

 

* * *

 

Later after court Tyrion catches Sansa in the hallway and the two of them hide in an alcove to talk privately.

“What’s going on?” Tyrion asks, “what others?”

“In the North….” Sansa says quietly, “whole villages have gone missing.”

“Whole _villages_?” Tyrion hisses in disbelief, “and what has the queen done about this?”

“We’ve sent out search parties and found nothing…we searched and searched Tyrion but there’s no trace of them. It’s not bandits or raiders or wildlings…it’s something else…something _bad_.”

She tells him the story of the white walkers, of the message she received though she told him nothing of Leaf and instead told him that Bran told her instead. When she was done she added, “Do you recall the story of Old Valeryia, of the doom?”

“Yes…everybody knows that story…” Tyrion frowns at her.

“I think what happened there is happening here,” Sansa says softly, “and we don’t know how to stop it.”

He is silent for a long while, staring up at her in disbelief before he whispers, “Then we must leave this place…we have to get out of here before it’s too late…flee this place as Aerion Targaryen did with his family before the doom came to Valeryia.”

“No,” Sansa hisses back, “Don’t tell anyone I told you…we cannot risk starting a panic throughout the kingdom. Dragon fire will end this threat to us…all we need to do is find it and turn the dragons upon them all.”

“I’m sorry…did you not recall what happened in Valeryia when they used fire?” Tyrion says pointedly, “They all burned to death…every volcano exploded everywhere all at once!”

“Which makes me think there is serious magic involved in all of this…think about it…haven’t you ever wondered why it’s always summer all the time? Why the winter is so long to arrive? Old Valeryia was once called the land of eternal summer.”

“They had dragons too Sansa,” Tyrion argues, “they had many dragons and if those dragons weren’t enough to stop the white walkers then what _is_?”

“What if someone triggered those volcanos on purpose…” Sansa says thoughtfully, “what if they were trying to protect the rest of the world from some great evil by destroying their homeland?”

“Trying to kill them all with fire so they might never threaten another kingdom,” Tyrion nods as he ponders her words, “It’s possible. Let us continue this later with the queen in the small council room. I need to visit the library.”


	56. Chapter 56

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I realize a lot of you were very adamant about the situation of last chapter. I just want to say, a lot of it was intentional, I have plans. Just bare with me, not everything has been revealed yet. A lot of things happened over the last six years, things that haven't been mentioned yet. I hope you all enjoy this next chapter, it should answer some questions or make more....who knows. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

They’ve been at it for hours.

The last thing Sansa wanted to do is sit in the small council room until dusk arguing about white walkers and which lord should own the titles of which land because one lord decided to murder the other in a fit of rage.

What a mess.

“Your highness?” Dany’s voice cuts through her thoughts and she glances towards her queen, the silver haired monarch was watching her thoughtfully, “what say you?”

“I….” Sansa trails off, a blush flushing her cheeks. She’d been so distracted by the thought of white walkers she wasn’t even listening to the conversation anymore.

“On the topic scouting the surrounding mountain ranges towards the Wall. You know the lay of the land best your highness, I wondered at your opinion on the matter.”

“There are wildlings in the mountains your grace,” Sansa says softly, “Mountain people…it would be dangerous. Most live towards the Vale, but some have spread out farther. Also the snow is thick now…it would be difficult to travel. My people know the snow well though, perhaps if you asked of it Jon could send out a ranging mission himself. I received a missive from him about a village near the wall rioting.”

“Rioting?” Dany says in alarm, “Why have I not received word on this yet?”

“I’m sure his highness Prince Aegon is writing to you as we speak,” Sansa says quietly, staring at the table, “He is surely busy with Prince Jon’s bannermen.”

“Your grace,” Tyrion says, “If I might be so bold, perhaps I can send out a troop of men to the North to aid Lord Targaryen.”

Sansa tries very hard not to choke on her own tongue when she hears Tyrion. It was a brave and clumsy move and it didn’t go unnoticed by Dany who fixed her steely purple gaze upon Tyrion.

“My nephew is perfectly capable of dealing with the situation Lord Lannister,” Dany says calmly, “Your highness you told me that you had a thousand men at the very least ready and able to defend if it came to it?”

“Indeed your grace,” Sansa says softly, “Five of my bannermen swore to me.”

“Only five?” Dany quirks an eyebrow, “Do you not have at least twelve?”

“I do your grace,” Sansa says with a sigh, not liking where this is going.

“And have they not bent the knee to you?” Dany presses.

“They have your grace…but Jon is their Lord now,” Sansa says softly.

“Such loyal men,” Dany sighs, leaning back in her chair, “It is a gift more than a curse that such honorable and loyal bannermen cling to House Stark.”

“House Stark has been in power seven hundred years your grace,” Sansa tells her, “Jon has Stark blood in him…they will eventually see that I’m certain.”

Dany doesn’t look even remotely impressed by her statement, and Sansa had a feeling they’d have a lengthy discussion about it later in private.

“As for these _creatures_ you spoke of your grace,” Tyrion changes the topic quickly, sensing the tension in the room, “Has anyone seen one?”

“Not as of yet,” Dany tells him, “That is partly why my nephew has flown out to Winterfell. We think the danger lurks in the deepest snow. So far the major attacks have been in the North, closest to the Wall.”

“And….just a show of hands,” Tyrion says, the wheels in his mind spinning, “Has anyone heard anything from the watchers on the wall lately?”

The silence in the room was deafening.

 

* * *

 

“I’m not responsible for your nephew,” Sansa says sourly as Dany follows her into the privacy of the Rhaenys wing.

“I’m not asking you to take responsibility…you should have told me about that riot the moment you arrived. How long have you known?” Dany demands angrily.

“I only received the missive an hour ago,” Sansa says tiredly, “I’m sorry…I should have told you sooner. I’m just so tired all the time; it must have slipped away from me.”

“My nephew could take the time to write to you but neglect to say anything to me?” Dany says, looking mildly offended and if Sansa wasn’t wrong….a little hurt.

“Don’t take it personal,” Sansa tells her quietly, “Aegon’s been ignoring me too….honestly I was surprised he wrote me at all. It’s really Jon’s business now anyways.”

Dany snorts indignantly and pours herself a glass of wine from the table, “You think I was wrong to give it to Jon.”

“I do,” Sansa says softly, “However if not Jon then who? Arya won’t take it…”

“Your heir?” Dany offers, “Jon could stand in until you produce an heir by Oberyn.”

“And when may I ask,” Sansa smiles faintly at Dany, “do I have time to lay with my husband these days?”

“It is hard isn’t it,” Dany says, staring out the window, “Women like us…we earned our places in this world when men have it handed to them on a silver platter. Now we carry the swords and charge into battle and we begin to realize it’s hard to do that alone.”

“It is….the weight is unbearable sometimes,” Sansa sighs softly, “I miss home.”

“I’m sorry to have kept you here so long,” Dany tells her quietly, “You’ve been such a good help to me though. I know it must put a terrible strain on your marriage.”

“What?” Sansa laughs, “I’m the one running back and forth…”

“Oberyn should help,” Dany says softly.

“Doran is a helpless,” Sansa says quietly, “and don’t you ever tell him I said that…I love him as my good brother but he’s afraid of his own shadow half the time. He wouldn’t stand up to the Lannisters even if the face of a threat. Oberyn was the one to take a stand…he is the true snake of house Martell. Doran is smart enough, I will give him that. He knows how to play the game…but war is not his preference.”

“Doran should not be clinging to the coat tails of his brother,” Dany scowls thoughtfully.

“I warned you about what the North might do…only five of the bannermen are with Jon and that’s because I ordered them too. I asked each Lord individually, the ones I knew I could trust to stand with Jon. They didn’t like it…but they did as I asked….even going so far as to try and persuade the others to follow suit.”

“I didn’t realize it was that bad,” Dany sighs.

“You’re getting better at it though,” Sansa smiles faintly at her, “You just…you need to hold to the word of the law.”

“I thought I _was_ ,” Dany growls in frustration, “These people are difficult.”

“That’s the North for you…cold…bitter…stubborn,” Sansa grins at her.

“Jon is a Stark,” Dany argues.

“Jon is a Targaryen…as Tyrion so kindly pointed out to you in a room full of ruling councilmen,” Sansa tells her.

“Then….” Dany sighs, “How about he takes the name of Stark?”

“Well,” Sansa tells her, “Why not just burn Winterfell to the ground while you’re at it…rebuild that too,” Sansa tells Dany tersely. “These people are about tradition…you cannot uproot everything they’ve known for seven hundred years without consequences.”

“ _I_ am queen,” Dany says pointedly, “My word is law.”

“Your grandfather never took anything from these people if they were willing to bend the knee,” Sansa begins gently; “he only took the swords of those who refused to yield to build his throne.  You must follow in his footsteps should you gain these people’s trust in you. A Stark must sit in Winterfell…my Father always used to say that too. _There must always be a Stark in Winterfell._ If I know anything Dany it’s that we must learn from our parents mistakes. My Father was too trusting…to kind…and that’s how Cersei Lannister got him killed. He tried to spare her and she turned on him for it.”

“I’m certain I can deal with the traitors,” Dany tells her, “I’ve had plenty of my share of that in Meereen.”

“This is not Meereen Dany,” Sansa counters, “This kingdom is ten times bigger than Meereen.”

“Regardless,” Dany says to her, “I’ve seen enough to know when I’ve got a traitor in my midst. I’m certain we can work something out.”

“Their _scared_ of you Dany!” Sansa blurts out, unable to hide the truth from her anymore. She didn’t want to tell her, she wanted to save her from that humiliation. “Their scared of you…their scared you’ll be just like your Father. If you start changing laws and bending the rules, then what’s stopping people from thinking that you’re going round the bend? Your Father did that…he did whatever he wanted whenever he wanted without so much as a _by your leave_. What would you do…what _wouldn’t_ you do to protect the people you love if you thought the current ruler was endangering your home…your village…your husband or wife or child? You came into this kingdom like…how did Tyrion put it? Like Aegon the conqueror with _teats_. You came with dragons…you have the capability of burning Westeros to the ground…your ten times more dangerous then Aerys ever was…he just had wildfire, but you…you’ve got _dragons_.”

“I would never use my dragons in such a way, their only meant to enforce the law…” Dany protests with a frown and then as an afterthought, “and I will have a word with Lord Lannister about how he describes me later I think.”

“Tyrion just…that’s how he is,” Sansa smiles faintly, “Aside from that, people are on edge…their just waiting for a repeat of what happened with King Aerys.  Dany the whole kingdom would join together if it meant to drag you off the iron throne should they feel you were a threat to them. They won’t suffer that madness again…I hardly think Westeros would survive it.”

She is silent for a while, a frown curving her lips, “Leave me for a while…I must think on this. If what you say is true, then there is much I need to consider before I continue on. I hadn’t realized the fragile state of things.” She pauses to smile at Sansa, “Thank you…I dare say I might have seen this coming if Sir Jorah were here to warn me off it. He’s been ill lately, and I’m grateful you are here to be so honest with me, not many would dare to do so.”

“Northerner,” Sansa half-smiles, “We’re known for our blunt honesty.”

 

* * *

 

 

That evening in the Red Keep Sansa sits in the center of her bed while Ellaria brushes out her long auburn tresses. It’s colder than usual tonight, and though they’ve closed all the windows and made a fire in the hearth they both still find themselves shivering.

“Everything is dead or dying in this place,” Ellaria murmurs as she eyes the plants that once grew in bright green patches along the window ceil, now dying and dried up from the bitter cold of winter.

“I know,” Sansa sighs, “it used to be so beautiful here.”

Ellaria frowns, her warm fingers sliding over the delicate bones of Sansa’s shoulders, “You’re not eating enough my love.”

“I’ve been too busy,” Sansa shakes her head, “I start to worry and then I have no appetite.”

“Ellaria clucks her tongue disapprovingly, “You will eat more while I’m here, that is for certain.”

“I do miss lemon cakes,” Sansa grins a little.

“No lemons,” Ellaria pulls a face, “Sorry.”

“I know, it’s rather depressing really.” Sansa sighs, “The winter is killing everything out there.”

“It’s killing more than our food supply,” Sansa grouses quietly, rubbing her face tiredly. She turns and faces Ellaria, eyeing her friend thoughtfully, “How would you feel about Oberyn and I having a baby?”

“I would not object,” she says, quirking an eyebrow, “When would you have time to do this though? You do realize in order to have a baby you would first need to be fucking don’t you?” Ellaria smirks at her as Sansa blushes brightly.

“You know I don’t like that language,” Sansa says softly.

“Only when it isn’t Oberyn saying it,” Ellaria grins at her knowingly, “He’s very good at wooing you with filthy words.”

“ _Anyways_ …” Sansa says pointedly with a smile on her lips, “The north is in an uproar as I predicted. Only five of the bannermen would stand with Jon and that’s because I asked them too. I had hoped the others would come around to it but they refuse. So Dany wondered if perhaps I put my own child on the winter throne…Jon could be regent until my child comes of age. The only issue…and this is what we discussed months ago is the idea of Dorne having a foothold in the North. Dany fears to lose control over the North to Dorne because my child would be a Martell. It isn’t like he or she couldn’t carry the Stark name, but regardless….and then the other half is what if I do put a Martell on the winter throne….it would unite the kingdoms, the one thing even Aegon the Conqueror never managed and Dany would be the one to do it. Dorne would officially be a part of the seven kingdoms…they couldn’t back out of it either.”

“Well,” Ellaria ponders, “It could go either way really, but why would Doran make war on Westeros? Why would he try and take control of the North? His own nephew is crown prince…he would not turn on his own blood.”

“The north is bigger than the south…the idea of Dorne uniting with the North is threatening at best,” Sansa groans and lays back on the bed, “I have no objections to children…I _want_ children. It’s the one thing I wanted since I was a child was to grow up and have a family of my own one day.”

“Then one of you two needs to move…I will tell you I’m not getting back in another boat for at least a month so my vote is for Oberyn to come here, that’s all I’m saying…” Ellaria grins and Sansa laughs.

“Aside from having a family…I need to return to Winterfell. Something is happening out there, something bad I think. I’m worried…nobody’s heard from the Wall in ages and it’s making everyone nervous.”

Ellaria opens her mouth to answer and freezes, a screeching roar like a dragon crying out into the night echoes outside the keep. Both women freeze in place, shadows dancing past the windows outside.

“Siege?” Ellaria whisper to Sansa softly.

“No…something else,” Sansa answers, “That shadow was too big to be people…”

Outside the bells begin to ring, guards yelling as they rush up and down the halls outside.  Sansa jumps out of bed and throws on her over gown, tying it quickly at the waist. “Get dressed,” she orders Ellaria without thinking twice, diving for the snake dagger she was given for her birthday and concealing it within her over gown. She leaves Ellaria too it and runs barefoot down the hall towards the royal half of the wing. Along the way through the window glass windows she spies a shadow dancing across the night sky, something silver shimmering in the moonlight…

“No…it can’t be,” Sansa breathes as she runs, very nearly colliding with Dany in the hall. “Oh! I’m sorry…I just…”

“I know,” Dany says as she motions Sansa to follow her. They chase after the dragon until they reach the balcony, standing out as they lean over the railing, searching the snowy sky. A storm had begun, and both women shiver from it.

“Where did this storm come from?” Sansa asks aloud, frowning as the snow gets heavier and the world around them blurs and greys from sight. Sansa had never seen a snow storm descend so quickly and so violently, blanketing the whole of King’s Landing in a terrible fog of snow and hail. The wind whips against them violently and both step back, a silver shape emerging from the fog. “It’s that dragon…the one Aegon’s been searching for…” Sansa says, eyes widening. The dragon was huge and clearly old, dragons that big have to be around for at least a few centuries. Glittering blue eyes watch them curiously, until the rider comes into view on its back. An odd creature it was, milk white hair with a complexion to match, the only defining feature it had was the ice blue of its eyes and the bizarre crown of ice on its head. It was only seconds before Sansa realized the danger. “That dragon had emerald eyes the last time I saw it---…” she screams and dives for Dany, shouting her name though it’s lost in the storm. A billow of ice narrowly misses them both, showering the door behind them and the entry way in hail and ice.

“Well…there’s no pretending they don’t exist now,” Sansa says as the dragon flies off and the two of them sit up. “Are you hurt?”

“Only my pride,” Dany grouses quietly, rubbing her arms against the cold, “I thought it was a frost dragon at first.”

“Well it certainly is now…” Sansa frowns, “It used to be a lighter shade of silver…with bright emerald eyes.”

“What sort of creature would be powerful enough to do that to a dragon?” Sansa asks Dany with a frown.

“No idea,” she replies, “but I have a bad feeling were about to find out.”


	57. Chapter 57

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, I was re-reading my transition into Book 2 and found it lacking. My tone was all wrong as many readers pointed out and after reading it I really have to agree. I re-wrote some things and added some things to the end of Chapter 54 so you all may want to check that out so you know where we are so far. Chapter 54 and 55 had some editing done essentially, might want to look it over so nobody gets confused. My transition was a bit messy so I cleaned it up, I feel much better. :) Alright, so this is the next chapter, I hope you all enjoy! Thank you to all my passionate readers, I enjoy your enthusiasm and I love to hear your opinions. Enjoy everybody! :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

“Silverwing,” Tyrion says as Sansa enters the royal library. He’s surrounded in stacks of old books and trunks full of dusty old clothes. Sansa picks her way through the bizarre assortment of Targaryen relics to reach the last Lannister leaning over an old book with faded drawings of dragons.

“What?” Sansa asks him curiously.

“The dragon you saw…it was Silverwing, beloved dragon of good Queen Alysanne. It went missing two hundred years ago and disappeared after her death into the red isles. Apparently it went wild too, completely untamed.”

Sansa leans over the book, peering at the faded image of a silver dragon with emerald eyes drawn across the page.

“Queen Alysanne drew this herself, she was a remarkable artist from what I understand,” Tyrion tells her thoughtfully.

“Have you found anything on the white walkers?” Sansa asks curiously.

“Nothing…but those trunks are full of bits of junk. Maybe you’ll find something I haven’t,” Tyrion suggests, “Honestly the Targaryens never threw anything away did they…centuries worth of family relics and heirlooms in here.”

“Dany’s been bringing everything up from the basement hasn’t she?” Sansa muses allowed.

“Indeed,” Tyrion says, “and she’s asked me to organize it all. I can’t say I’m not interested though…I do love history.”

Sansa pulls her warm furs around her and sits down in one of the plush velvet chairs, digging through the trunks and old piles of books. There was everything from old books on tax laws to books on genealogy. In the trunks she finds what she thought were clothing to be leather strips that were wrapped in bundles to protect jewelry, tarnished old circlets with missing jewels, a battered old leather bound journal written in pure old valerian even to the likes that Sansa could barely read, let alone discover who wrote it. At the very bottom she finds an old silver necklace with a large five-point star the size of her palm. It glinted in the dim morning sunlight that shone through the windows, inlaid with emerald jewels. Tilting her head to one side she examines it, mesmerized by the swirling patterns etched into the metal. On each point a different season is represented, and on the fifth is carved a funny looking symbol that looks a lot like a tree…

_She stands before the Iron Throne and across it lay blackfyre, the sword of Aegon the Conqueror…it was as if the sword were staring at her expectantly…as if it were speaking to her…_

“Sansa?” Tyrion’s voice is alarmed and he’s beside her. She isn’t sure how he got there or how she got on the floor but there she was. “Are you alright?”

“I…how did I get on the floor?” Sansa frowns, the necklace in her hand cutting into her palm as she stands. She tosses it back into the trunk and rubs her sore palm before looking at Tyrion.

“Sansa…you cried out and slid from your chair onto the floor…you don’t recall that?” Tyrion frowns at her worriedly.

“No,” Sansa blinks away the image of the iron throne from behind her eyes, but it was like the sight of it was burned into her mind, the glint of the golden hilt of blackfyre shining like the sun in the light that shone from the enormous window behind the throne. “I should go lay down…I don’t feel well.”

“I shall summon a maester,” Tyrion agrees, “I’ll have him visit you in your chambers.”

“No,” Sansa waves him off, “I’m fine I’m just tired…I should go lie down for a while I think.”

* * *

 

In her own bedchambers she rests while Ellaria sits at the desk nearby watching her. In silence she writes, her honey colored eyes gazing up at the sleeping woman. There is worry etched across her features as she writes before sealing the letter and sending it off with a raven.

This has to end.

Sansa was being stubborn and it was taking a heavy toll on her health. She collapsed in the library that very afternoon if her sources were correct.

“You worry very loudly; did you know?” Sansa says without opening her eyes, curling into the blankets of her bed.

“You passed out in the library,” a statement not a question.

“I had a vision…I’ve never done that while I was awake before I don’t think,” Sansa admits aloud, “I saw the Iron throne…and Blackfyre was resting upon it.”

“Odd dreams to be having…are you sure you’re not part Targaryen yourself?” Ellaria muses allowed.

“I don’t know,” Sansa shrugs, “I don’t understand half the things I dream about.”

“Tell me again the dream you had of the children,” Ellaria says thoughtfully.

“I dreamt I stood beneath the heart tree and before me ran this boy…he was so young and sweet. He had silver hair and violet eyes like Aegon.  Behind him came another boy…older…he looked just like Oberyn.”

“You’ve not lain with Aegon have you?” Ellaria asks curiously.

“No,” Sansa says, “he tried to kiss me once though…I wouldn’t let him.”

“Loyal,” Ellaria smiles at her, “That is my favorite thing about you.”

“He’s my _nephew_ ,” Sansa says with mild frustration, “I shouldn’t be in love with my nephew…it’s ridiculous, I’m _not_ a Targaryen.”

“You are also not his elder nor related to him by blood but by marriage,” Ellaria points out, “He’s older then you and you did not grow up around him. It would be difficult for you to look upon him as your nephew when he’s older then you and you knew nothing of his existence up until the day he showed up at Sunspear.”

“I think it’s safe to rule out the child being mine at this point,” Sansa tells Ellaria pointedly, a hint to end the topic.

“So the other boy,” Ellaria says, “Did he have a northern look to him?”

“Entirely dornish I think,” Sansa says softly, “Perhaps neither boy is mine.”

“Don’t give up so easily my love,” Ellaria tells her softly, “Never give up hope.”

 


	58. Chapter 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game Of Thrones.

In the deep of winter the ship bearing Sansa home struggled through icy waters towards the bay of white harbor. The very first thing she saw was the winter stricken surrounding villages. It was a nervous thing, seeing these people who were once so vibrant and full of life pull tight their shutters and hide inside their homes. The rumors of whole villages vanishing were no longer a rumor. Half the kingdom knew, and no doubt they feared the worst now. Accompanying Sansa was a member of Dany’s queen’s guard, assigned to her especially as Dany was concerned with Sansa travelling alone all the way back to Winterfell. If Aegon had returned home as he promised he would, Sansa could have ridden with him on Rhaegal, but when that day came and past, everyone became nervous. There’s been no reply from the people of Winterfell, and Sansa was anxious to get home.

Something was wrong.

Walking up the muddy snow covered streets of White Harbor she kept to herself, hood drawn low over her face and the guard behind her dressed down to match. She wanted to attention from these people and wanted to keep her identity secret.

“We will need horses your highness,” the guard who was called Sir Truss suggested quietly.

“I am aware,” Sansa says softly, “Lord Targaryen was to send them down from Winterfell. Clearly he did not get my letter.”

This worried Sansa even more, so they purchased horses instead and rode out on the Kings Road towards Winterfell. “Come,” she called to Sir Truss, “We must hurry, I fear things might be worse than expected.”

 

* * *

 

As usual her instinct proved her correct for as they came around the bend on the Kings Road where upon the hillside they could see the towers of Winterfell across the expanse of open field she knew she had guessed correctly. The expanse of land was littered with smoking corpses and as they picked their way through the wreckage she found the village before the gates of Winterfell abandoned and burnt. Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes as she feared the worst, slowly leading her horse towards the gates. It was odd to see them shut, bared against the world outside.

“Your highness,” Sir Truss says quietly, “I don’t like this…we should turn back, something’s wrong. I would feel much safer if we were to return with more men.”

“No,” Sansa says quietly, “we’ve come too far, we can’t turn back now.”

“Hail guardsman!” Sansa calls aloud to the walls of Winterfell, “It is I, Sansa Stark…open the gates and let me in!”

When silence greeted them at first Sansa felt panic racing through her blood. Then she heard the cries of Rhaegal and soon it stirred others.

“By the seven,” she hears Jon before she sees him, his thick mop of dark hair appearing at the top of the wall, “Sansa what are you doing here!?” He turns then and shouts orders, “Open the gates! Quickly now and get them inside before they come back!”

“Jon what is it?” Sansa frowns up at her cousin, the panic in her heart flooding her body until the reigns in her hands tremble.

“Sansa hurry!” Jon calls to her as the gates swing open and the guards usher them forth with urgency.

Sansa glances at her guard and the two ride forward, galloping into Winterfell and the safety behind the walls. They shut the gates quickly behind them and bar them closed with heavy wood and whatever else they can pile up before the gates.

“Jon,” Sansa says as he rushes towards her, helping her down from her horse. “Jon what’s going on? Didn’t you receive my letter?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I’ve received nothing, no doubt they’ve intercepted the ravens. I think they mean to spy on our plans that way.”

“Who?” Sansa asks as she follows him into the warmth of the great hall, “Jon a horrible thing has happened in Kings Landing…some great beast of a dragon nearly killed Dany and I and I think it may have come from the white walkers.”

“I’ve no doubt it did,” Jon agrees Sansa follows him among the groups of common folk and bannermen huddled within the hall. Now she knew where all the villagers have gone, or at least what was left of them.

“They attacked in the night when we were all sleeping. I heard the screams of the villagers first and then the captain of the guard came to me and told me what was happening. We evacuated the village and saved who we could and bared ourselves inside the keep after. There were at least three or four hundred of them…the dead attacked Winterfell.”

“It is what I feared,” Sansa says as she sits down heavily, fear and worry stealing her strength, “What do we do?”

“We hold them off as best we can,” Jon tells her, “Aegon is going for help in the morning when he’s healed up a bit. He was badly burned in the fires of the village.”

“Targaryen’s can’t burn,” Sansa says softly, “everyone knows that.”

“Of course they can,” Jon snorts derisively, “That’s just a myth.”

“How is he?” Sansa asks him as Jon helps sort out weapons and gives orders.

“His arm will survive,” Jon tells her, “It’s burned a bit but it will heal or so the maester tells me. I told the idiot to use a shield,” Jon sighs.

Sansa nods thoughtfully and watches Jon as he deals with the rest of the room. “Jon call the banners,” Sansa tells him as he rushes, “call the banners we need more men.”

“You’re looking at them,” Jon says as he motions to the men in the room, “Eight of the banners made it beyond the gates before we had to seal it, the rest are still out there somewhere.”

“Yet only five are loyal to you,” Sansa murmurs more to herself then to him.

“Our bloody homes were being overrun,” one tells her as he overhears the conversation, “What else could we do? We hadn’t any choice.”

“Well I’m glad you’re alright Lord Hornwood,” Sansa tells him with a soft smile.

“As I am you, Lady Stark,” he tells her with a bow of his head though his eyes were on Jon’s back as he spoke.

Jon seems to notice the exchange but says nothing, only a stiffness in his shoulders betrays the pressure he’s been under. “Sansa you should get some rest,” Jon says without looking at her, “Your journey must have been tiring.”

“I think I shall,” she sighs as she stands, pulling off her soft black leather gloves as she starts towards her bed chambers. “I shall also write to Dorne,” she tells him as she passes, “and send for help.”

“If the raven even makes it,” Jon tells her, “We’ve called for help repeatedly without answer from anyone.”

“Dornish troops will never make it in time nor would they be able to navigate the land in that mess out there. Snow’s thicker than I’ve ever seen even before my grandfather’s time your highness,” Lord Hornwood says quietly, “I hardly think we’ll last the night.”

Sansa doesn’t show fear in the face of adversity, it was bred out of her long ago. Yet when she looks upon Lord Hornwood she can’t help but worry. Jon answers for her though, staring Hornwood down when he says, “Hold your tongue in her highnesses presence Lord Hornwood, it does no one any good to spread fear and worry.”

“Forgive me Lady Stark,” he says as he meets Sansa’s gaze looking sheepish, “don’t listen to an old man’s ramblings.”

“There is nothing to forgive Lord Hornwood,” Sansa smiles politely, “These are dark days but we will survive.”

 

* * *

 

In Kings Landing a single dornish ship docks in the harbor. A lone hooded traveler pays his fees and makes his way through the stinking rot of the city. He notices the differences, the thick snow and the silence. People are afraid and hiding, the place that once held such beauty and yet smelled of rot and age was now cold and gray.

The stench hasn’t changed though…unfortunately.

 

Inside the palace it’s chaos. Dany holds court in the great hall, seated high atop a mountain of melted iron upon a throne built for Targaryen Kings and Queens. They demand her attention and cry out their fears.

“Highgarden withers and dies your grace,” Calls one, “We’ve no crops to bring the city.”

“We’ll all starve if Highgarden falls,” another said, “surely there is something we can do.”

“The snow’s killing everything,” another argues, “there’s nothing we can do.”

“But apparently not the stench of this foul city,” Oberyn calls as he approaches the dais and bows, “Your grace.”

“Prince Oberyn,” Daenerys says, amusement dancing in her eyes, “what news of Dorne?”

“Frozen your grace,” he says, “snow and bitter ice…but warm on the inside,” he grins up at her, “as always.”

“I’m happy to hear the dornish stay warm in these dark times Prince Oberyn,” she tells him, “what brings you to Kings Landing?”

“My wife your grace,” he says, “Princess Sansa, I’ve been called to her side.”

“Your wife has travelled to Winterfell Prince Oberyn,” she tells him calmly, “If you take your ship to White Harbor you would find it easier to find her I think. My councilors inform me that the road to Winterfell is unsafe at this time, we are under siege.”

“Under siege?” he asks, his calm demeanor wavering in the face of concern, “From what?”

“The dead,” she says without preamble, “and creatures that come from beyond the wall.”

It’s unnerving news for him, the idea that the dead walk the earth attacking the common folk and highborn alike. What sort of foul magic could bring back the dead? What creature has come so far to conquer the seven kingdoms?  “Do they mean to conquer us then your grace?”

“Kill us,” Dany says, “they leave none alive and take those that they kill, adding them to their armies.”

“An army of the dead,” he breathes aloud, shock and fear dancing across his face. That would make for a powerful army, an army of thousands upon thousands…

“If you will excuse me your grace,” Oberyn bows, “I must prepare for my journey to Winterfell.”

 

* * *

 

She sits in a copper tub filled with hot water and scrubs the cold from her skin. It was lovely to be home again, safe and warm within the walls of Winterfell. Dipping below the water she closes her eyes and lets the warm water rush over her hair and face, enjoying the feel of the warmth. It’s been so long since she could just lounge in a tub of hot water and care nothing for the time she does so. When she surfaces she washes the soap from her face and body and climbs out, wrapping herself in a towel before stepping gingerly across the stone floor to the screen across the room. Changing into her night clothes she combs out her hair and braids it, reading herself for bed.

Her room is dark save for the light of the hearth, the sound it soothing to listen too combined with the wind of the winter storm outside. So many questions, so little answers. How will she manage all of this? The bannermen downstairs clearly still hold no love for their new warden, and she understands why. Sitting by the fire she stares into the flames, the heat of the fire drying her hair and warming her skin.

_There must always be a Stark in Winterfell…_

The dying words of her beloved Father, the echo of her Mother about duty and loyalty. The smoking corpses outside the walls of Winterfell, the abandoned villages, the endangered bannermen….

Oh how her Father was right.

She should have never left, and silently she scolds herself for doing so. Loyalty to the crown was her duty as well but if she was uneasy she should have spoken her peace about it. Even still, could she have managed all that Jon had done tonight for Winterfell? What if he’d left and she’d been alone here with the guards? Winterfell might have fallen and she could have easily gotten everyone killed.

_No…_

“I won’t do this,” she says aloud to herself, “I can do it…I can manage it, I’m every bit as strong as my Father ever was…I am a Stark…I am a Stark…” she murmurs to herself like a mantra, staring into the flames as her mind drifts. When she falls asleep she dreams about the Iron Throne and of Blackfyre, the sword of Aegon the Conqueror, rest across the seat. It makes no sense and she wonders at the dream, walking through the empty great hall as if she were truly there, as if the sword were speaking to her….

Someone lifts her and she is weightless, floating as she is carried to bed. Under the fog of sleep, she recognizes Jon’s retreating back before she slips back into the safety of her dreams. He must have come to check on her no doubt and stupidly she’d fallen asleep by the fire.

Tomorrow…tomorrow she would worry. Tonight she would dream of happy things, of better times.

 

* * *

 

Gliding into the guest chambers he smiles when he sees Ellaria, her honey colored eyes meeting his with love and joy. “My love,” she purrs when he walks towards her, “At last. Have you missed me?” she coos as he embraces her.

“My heart aches without you,” he says smoothly as he kisses her.

“What else have you missed?” she says slyly and suddenly he is suspicious. Ellaria is never so sweet without reason…. sometimes she’s sweet because she’s angry….

“My wife,” he tells her, “and the joy of both your presence.”

“Oh really,” she smiles up at him before abruptly boxing his ears and letting loose a string of Rhoynish swear words even _he_ would blush at.

Yep…anger.

“ _What_?” he says as he raises his arms to fend off her attack, “What have I done now?”

“She’s skin and bones Oberyn!” Ellaria snarls at him, “I’ve spent countless nights trying to get her to eat more because when I came here she was all but withered away! Why have you not been here? You told me she was in excellent health!”

“That’s because she told me she was!” he tells her, “She told me she was fine when I asked if she needed me.”

“You know how Sansa is,” Ellaria rolls her eyes, “She will always try and take the whole of the burden on her own. If she thinks she’s going to strain anyone she won’t ask…you have to just do it Oberyn,” Ellaria glares at him.

“I came didn’t I?” he tells her, “I’m here now.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Ellaria tells him, his paramour aflame with anger, “because I had to write to you and tell you about her troubles. You should have guessed she was struggling; you know how she is.”

“My wife is an intelligent woman,” Oberyn argues, “if she was struggling I think she would tell me.”

“Oh please,” Ellaria scoffs, “Since when would Sansa shirk any weight?”

Oberyn stares at her and she stares at him before he sighs and drops down into a nearby chair, “I sail for White Harbor in the morning.”

“I’m coming with you,” Ellaria tells him pointedly.

“ _No_ ,” Oberyn says quickly, sharply enough to make Ellaria take pause and look at him. “No,” he says softer, “There is great danger in the North and I fear Sansa has ridden straight into it.”

“Then go to her,” Ellaria tells him, “and bring her home safe.”

“I will try,” he says though she can tell he’s worried. He stands and strips off his travelling clothes as she readies for bed, making to join her.

She quirks an eyebrow at him as he climbs into bed with her, “and what do you think you’re doing?”

“I need to sleep Ellaria,” he tells her tiredly, “It will be a long journey tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry my love,” she looks at him pitiless, “Did you think you would sleep in my bed tonight?”

“Ellaria,” he sighs.

“Goodnight my love,” she smiles at him and turns over onto her side, blowing out the candle with her back to him.

He turns and stalks off back into the lounge of the chamber, cursing in Rhoynish as he goes. He would be sleeping on a hard sofa tonight, and in the morning he’d be travelling on a ship with an even harder bed. It was going to a rough journey to Winterfell.

 

* * *

 

“How are you feeling?” Sansa asks as the sky lightens and the storm relents. Aegon was readying Rhaegal for flight when she found him in the courtyard.

“My arm,” he tells her, “It aches something fierce but the maester assures me it will heal with time.”

“Thank you,” she says softly, “for everything…for helping Jon defend Winterfell.”

“It was nothing,” he smiles faintly, “Well…it was _something_ , I’ve never seen a battle like that before. Hundreds of them…the dead come back to life.”

“Be careful on your journey will you?” Sansa smiles softly, “And tell Dany to keep the dragons safe…they’ve gotten ahold of that wild one, the one you were hunting and turned it into something else.”

“How?” he frowns at her.

“I don’t know, but it’s eyes were different.” She says softly, “From such a pretty green color to ice blue…it was bizarre.” Suddenly as an afterthought she added, “Oh! We figured out who the dragon was…it was Silverwing, good queen Alysanne’s dragon. It disappeared two hundred years ago.”

“Really?” he says with uplifted eyebrows, “Remarkable…a pity it was caught by those foul things.”

“Just,” Sansa says tentatively, “be careful out there Aegon. That dragon is still out there…I would hate for it to hurt you or Rhaegal.”

“I’ll be careful,” he tells her and then adds at the concerned look on her face, “Stop worrying so much Sansa…honestly I’ll be _fine_.”

 


	59. Chapter 59

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game Of Thrones.

When Aegon reaches the dragon pits his aunt is already there. Dany is carefully strapping a saddle onto Drogon, readying him for flight.

“Where are you going?” Aegon asks as he slides off Rhaegal’s back.

“I _was_ going to look for you if you must know,” Dany tells him, “I was worried.”

“Winterfell was attacked,” Aegon explains, “We were overrun and fire seems to be the only thing that can stop them. Jon tells me he faced them beyond the wall near the sea. Burn the bodies he said.”

“The bodies?” Dany stops strapping on the saddle to look at Aegon fully, “Burn the bodies?”

“The dead…an army of the dead surely you know about it?” He lifts an eyebrow.

“Yes,” she says, “but I thought it was only if they were slain by these creatures.”

“No,” he shakes his head, “all bodies…if someone dies from a bad pub brawl they’ll come back as one of those things.”

“Then they could already be within our walls as we speak,” Dany says worriedly, looping the straps of the saddle into the loops and patting Drogon’s neck lovingly before looking at Aegon, “I’ll assemble what men I can and give orders to burn the bodies of all our dead. The sept won’t like it but they won’t have a choice. I want you to go back to Winterfell, they’ll need Rhaegal’s fire to fend off any more attacks. I’ll follow with Drogon when I’m finished here, I want to get a look at the surrounding lands and see if I can’t spot them. If I can find them I can burn them, and we can assemble the banners for an offensive attack once that’s done.”

“Agreed,” Aegon nods as he sends for food to feed Rhaegal. The emerald dragon shakes the snow from his scales and hisses in announce at Aegon before scampering away into his stale, looking perfectly irritated by the snow and cold of winter. “Armor,” he says as an afterthought, “Drogon will need armor…they’ve got a dragon of their own.”

“So I am aware,” Dany nods, “I was nearly killed by it the other night with Sansa. I called for the armor to be made months ago. Rhaegal’s is finished along with Drogon’s if you need it.”

“I’ll send for it,” he nods, “thank you.”

“Dinner?” Dany says as he turns to walk off.

 He stops to look at her with a frown. “What?”

“You’ll have time to eat dinner with me won’t you?” she asks, “We hardly see each other, I thought it would be good to spend time together…as a family.”

“Of course,” he says as he stares at her, looking suddenly very awkward, “I…of course.”

“Excellent,” Dany smiles at him, “Nothing big…we haven’t the time…just…something.”

“Sounds delightful,” he nods and then continues up towards the keep.

 

* * *

 

She’s been standing out in the cold for what feels like hours. It was a haunting feeling, the idea of waiting for another attack. Jon was down in the courtyard planning an offensive with barrels of tar and burning arrows. Fire was the only thing that could hold them off, and fire was what they needed.

“We have to do more than just survive,” Sansa murmurs to herself softly. From her place up on top of the wall she stares over the battlements and watches the surrounding tree line, waiting to see something…anything.

“It’s cold up here Lady Stark,” Lord Hornwood says as he comes to stand beside her on the battlements, “You should go inside.”

“You should be down with the others planning the offensive Lord Hornwood,” Sansa says softly, “and I’m fine…I like the feel of the cold wind on my face.”

“The North is in your blood,” he smiles faintly, “just as it’s in ours.”

“Jon needs you Lord Hornwood,” Sansa presses softly.

“I would aid him if that’s what you wished of me Lady Stark,” Lord Hornwood says pointedly.

“It is what I wish,” Sansa tells him with a hand on his shoulder, “I would ask that all the Northern bannermen stand behind him as loyally as they have stood behind me these past six years.”

“As you wish my lady,” he smiles and then it fades as he turns his gaze out onto the open expanse of land where the remains of burnt corpses are being slowly buried by the snow. “My nephew’s out there…” he says sadly, bitter sorrow in his eyes, “He was about your age…he was a good lad. Those bastards cut him down. He’s out there…among the burnt bodies.” He pauses for a moment before he looks at Sansa, “Don’t you worry my lady,” he tells her firmly, “when they come back, we’ll be ready. When they come back…they’re all going to _burn_.”

 

* * *

 

When night descends upon Winterfell, the whole of the keep is dark. It’s easier to defend a hold someone thinks are abandoned and empty then one that’s lite up and armed to the teeth. Sansa along with all the women and children are barred inside the great hall while the men outside seal the gates and pile as much as they can before the heavy wooden doors.

“I want men on every corner of the battlements, keep the arrows unlit until I give the signal. Lord Tallhart,” Jon says as he glances towards one of the bannermen, “Are your men ready?”

“Aye my lord they are,” he nods.

“Good man,” Jon nods as he then turns address them all, “Dark days have descended upon us,” he begins loudly so all can hear him, “but we are Northerners!” he shouts, “And we do not kneel to these invaders. We do not kneel before murderers!” They cheer at his words before he continues, the surrounding silence giving ear to his words, “We will show these bastards some proper Northern justice!” Relief washes over him at the sight of every man cheering though scared they might be. Even the banners who resist him, who make every attempt to spurn him cheer and this he supposes is a good sign.

 “And so our watch begins…” he murmurs quietly to himself, thinking on other days upon an entirely different wall.

 

* * *

 

Inside the keep it’s a totally different scenario. Sansa works with the others to feed and calm the villagers as well as the children. She carries food and drink to them all, brings blankets and sooths the ones who weep.  She was born a highborn lady and though she was taught to behave as a lady she was also taught duty, and she had a duty to these villagers as a fellow Northerner if not a Stark.

Arya helps where she can but she longs to be outside with the men, needle was strapped to her hip and she was struggling with armor when Sansa finally caught her.

“Arya I _need_ you in here with me,” she says pointedly, “I can’t do this alone.”

“You’ve got the servants to help you,” Arya argues, “I can do more good outside with Jon.”

“Arya,” Sansa says as she drops the water buckets in her hands and catches hold of her sister, staring into her dark brown eyes, “I need you here. I need you in here with me because I need _you_. I’m frightened Arya…I’m frightened and I don’t want to go through this night alone. Be here with me…stay here with me… _please_.”

Arya stares at her sister, eyes wide with comprehension. “You really want me here with you, don’t you?”

“Of course I do!” Sansa says softly, “You’re my sister and I love you and I never want you away from my side again!”

“Alright, _alright_!” Arya squeaks when Sansa embraces her tightly, “I’ll stay with you but we’re going to have to discuss exactly how long I need to stay by your side.” When Sansa doesn’t let go she adds, “Sansa…your scaring me now…what’s going on outside?”

“We’ve no dragon,” she says softly, “Aegon’s not back yet and we’re running out of time. Jon’s plan is a good one but I don’t know how long it will hold out.”

“Well then it’s got to hold, hasn’t it?” Arya says as Sansa releases her and steps away, “It just has too.”

* * *

 

Outside in the bitter cold they wait, all eyes on the tree line, the sky above and the expanse of land surrounding them. They wait in the dark and the silence, ready for battle but secretly hoping the army of the dead won’t return. They hope there are no more, as many whisper prayers to the seven and the old gods, whisper words of love to the people they hold dear in the world, soft words their loved ones can’t hear but will know in their hearts to be tree.

Jon Targaryen in another life was the boy Jon Snow who defended the wall against an attacking horde of wildlings with six hundred good men against a thousand or more, not including giants. He could defend this keep, if he owed anything to Eddard Stark he owed him this, he would defend his keep and he would protect his daughters. Not only did the lives of Eddard’s only remaining children rest in the hands of Jon Snow but so did the lives of every villager and bannermen bared within the walls of Winterfell.  

“Steady,” Jon murmurs quietly at the restlessness of the men around him, “stand your ground.”

Hours pass, and they wait well into the dark of the night. The cold gets worse and the snow drifts down from the sky in sheets. Unable to light a fire for warmth the men shiver under thick furs and blankets.

“It’s not use if were all frozen to the bone when they come,” Lord Hornwood murmurs to Jon quietly. “Perhaps they won’t come.”

“No,” Jon says as he ponders the thought, his instincts telling him otherwise, “Something tells me they’ll be back, and they’ll be back with reinforcements. They were just testing our strength before…tonight is the real battle.”

It’s nearing midnight when the fog rolls across the icy terrain. Jon’s numb from the cold but hours of being guard atop the wall have strengthened him against it. He nudges the man beside him with a half grin as the man snorts and jerks awake, shaking the snow from his hair with an apologetic look on his face.

“Here it comes,” Lord Hornwood says aloud as a wave of snow and ice crosses the land, blinding them in all directions. The tree line is thoroughly encompassed and all they see in every direction is blinding darkness and snow.

“Hold!” Jon calls, “On my signal!”

_Just a little closer…_

If working on the wall has taught him anything, it has taught him to be creative. To defend something, you had to use every available option to you and Jon Snow did not skip any opportunities. When the ice drew closer and the first of the dead became visible he gave the signal and below across the surrounding countryside veins of fire burst to life. A Hail of flaming arrows sang through the night sky and lit the surrounding expanse of land aflame, careful to keep the flames far from the keep but close enough to keep the dead away from the walls of Winterfell.

The charging horde catch fire as they march and the men cheer, victory close at hand…until it wasn’t. Abruptly they halted, the hording march of the dead against Winterfell. Something in the icy cold gave them pause, ordered their halt. Then the sound of a deep horn, akin to nothing Jon had ever heard before sent a chill of fear racing up and down his spine. The winds picked up and howled and the snow fell harder until the men on the battlements could hardly brace themselves against it. The fire sputtered and died, smothered by snow and icy wind.

They were doomed.

 Jon stood with the others, turning his gaze in every direction from the heights of the battlements. Darkness spread across the land like a living thing and his heart dropped into his stomach at the sight. “Ready the men,” Jon tells Lord Hornwood as he turns towards the stairs, a sudden longing to know his two cousins were safe. They needed to know…they needed to be ready if the dead made it through the gates.

“My lord!” Lord Hornwood shouts as Jon descends the stairs.

He halts and returns, stepping up beside him, “What is…” he trails off at the sight before him, thousands of them in every direction, the dead standing against the walls of Winterfell, in the thick snow and the darkness of the night.

“Fuck me…” Lord Hornwood breathes, his eyes wide with fear.

“Brace yourselves!” Jon shouts to them all, unsheathing Long Claw. They would fight and somehow they would make it through. “Ready the spare tar!” he shouts as he rushes down the stairs, “Light the torches and arrows. Burn them!” he shouts orders, rushing across the courtyard to help others haul barrels of tar up the stairs to throw over the side. “Use anything that can burn! We need fire and we need to keep it lit!” he shouts loudly as men assembled in the courtyard, ready to defend the gates.

The battle has begun.

 


	60. Chapter 60

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game Of Thrones.

He soars high above the storm where the air is freezing but he’s free of the blinding snow in his face. Flying in the North wasn’t optimal for dragons or their riders, it was a struggle to reach Winterfell. Aegon could scarcely see the land below, and the idea that one of those creatures having a dragon put him on edge. Every sudden whip of the wind had him whirling to look, every slight cry or howl of the breeze made him tense for battle. It was as if the creatures intended to make them paranoid, to make them _scared_.

They were testing the strength of Westeros and he knew they must not be seen as weak. It was imperative they saw strength. Dragons would make that easier, and he thanks the seven that he has Rhaegal. “Easy,” he murmurs, patting Rhaegal’s neck lovingly, “Almost there.”

He _thinks_ …

It’s hard to tell the lay of the land through all the sleet and snow in the wind, but when he gets low enough he can just barely make out the Kings road and the tree line beyond the borders of Winterfell. What he sees freezes the blood in his veins. The countryside is littered by molten rock and burning corpses. They came sooner than he thought, and in greater numbers this time. He had to hand it to his half-brother, he _was_ creative.  He’d used chunks of boulders dipped in and tar and flung them over the walls at the creatures, setting them aflame with arrows. It was a clever tactic and highly effective. Winterfell had taken a heavy beating it looked, one of the walls has been caved in, and the sight of this makes his heart beat spike in fear. He dives low, scanning the ground before swooping into the courtyard to land. The inside of the courtyard is worse than outside because it’s completely barren save for the wreckage of battle.

“JON!” he shouts, “Anyone!”

The gates took a heavy hit without breaking, though he could see the tips of axes and spears wedged into the wood from every angle. They tried to get through the gates it looked, but when he spies the boulders _inside_ the courtyard he knew they must have changed tactic and knocked down the east wall instead.

“ANYONE!” he shouts as he approaches the doors to the great hall. The door is broken down and lies splintered on the ground.

_Giants…_

They had giants with them surely, nothing short of giants could have kicked in a door like that. He searches the keep and finds it abandoned. Over turned chairs and tables, axes lodged into the walls and blood stains on the stones beneath his feet. People have died here, and more than likely they’d gotten right back up again and walked off. The very idea of it, the idea of Jon and Sansa and Arya as one of those _things_.

“Aegon?” a soft feminine voice whispers his name and relief washes over him. He turns to see Sansa, peering at him through the crack in the stone door of the Stark crypt. The door is barred closed by fallen debris but the stone held against the assault of the undead.

“Sansa!” he breathes in relief, moving to pull the wood and broken stone away from the door. Her face is covered in soot and her hair is askew but she looked relatively alright.

“We’ve been trapped down here for nearly two days,” she says as he heaves the last of the debris away and pulls the stone door open. She falls into his arms and he embraces her gladly, kissing her forehead, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine…” she says as she wipes the tears threatening to burn in her eyes, “We lost so many…they broke into the keep and they were chasing us…everything was burning. I thought perhaps the stone walls of the crypt might defend better than wood.”

“Where’s Jon?” he asks, “Your sister…the bannermen?”

“I can’t find Arya,” she tells him worriedly, “when they broke into the hall she tried to protect me, we got separated and I couldn’t find her.” Sansa tells him with anguish in her eyes, “I managed to get as many as I could into the crypt. Jon’s gone too, he went to find her…it’s my fault I begged him too, I knew she was missing and I was worried. I haven’t seen him since…”

“I’ll find him,” Aegon reassures her, “Dany will be here soon.”

“There were so many of them,” Sansa whispers softly, “so many…I’ve never seen so many.”

“It’ll be alright Sansa,” he says as he cups her face with his hands, “I’m going to find your sister and Jon. I’ll be back…can you manage for an hour?”

“I can,” she says as she straightens her back, forcing all her courage forward. The people in the crypt were frightened and scared, she would hold them fast.

“Good girl,” he says as he turns towards Rhaegal, Blackfyre shimmering in the dim morning light.

“Aegon!” Sansa calls as she rushes after him, and to his confusion her fingers slide across the pummel of Blackfyre. She stares and stares and he thinks she’s almost frightened for a moment when disappointment crosses her face.

“What is it?” he asks, looking at her curiously.

“Nothing,” she says softly and shakes her head, turning back towards the crypt, “Be careful.”

“Only if you do the same,” he tells her softly.

“I’ll do my best,” she smiles at him faintly before watching him go.

 

* * *

 

It echoes in her dreams and blood runs down the walls. Arya Stark was so warm and comfortable and yet she knew that couldn’t be right. She jerks awake with a start and snow scatters away from her body. She was lying in the snow in the godswood. Jon was lying nearby, face down in the mud and the ice. She crawls towards him, fear creeping through her veins as she checks for a pulse. He’s alive and breathing, and as she turns him over onto his back he coughs roughly and stirs.

“Jon!” she says worriedly, “Jon wake up!”

“Ow,” he winces when her hand grazes a wound on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she grimaces, “Jon they had us…why didn’t they take us?” Arya says as she looks around, “Where are they? It looks as if they’ve gone.”

“Ow,” is all he says in reply as he sits up and rubs his lower back. Brushing his hair away from his face he searches for Long claw, finds it tossed into the pond under the heart tree.  The water’s frozen over and his sword was trapped beneath the ice.

“Damn,” he scowls as he proceeds to try and kick the ice in, fighting to crack the surface so he can reach his sword.

“I don’t understand,” Arya says from where she leans against a tree, exhausted and unable to stand just yet. She shivers from the cold and knows she needs to get warm soon, you could easily die in the cold and you wouldn’t realize you were dying until it was too late. Last night had been terrifying, nothing had ever gotten beyond the walls before. Then again, she’d never been caught in the middle of a siege before either. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“You,” Jon tells her, “You charging out into the godswood because they had Uncle Benjen and you wouldn’t listen to me!”

“It was Uncle Benjen!” Arya shouts at him, “They had him…he’s _alive_ Jon!”

 “We don’t know that,” Jon tells her as he comes to sit beside her, giving up on Longclaw for now. “Uncle Benjen’s been missing for ages now. He could have easily been one of them and posing as a prisoner.”

“Well he looked fairly alive to me,” Arya argues, “How many of the dead last night stopped to have a conversation with _you_?”

“He was yelling at you to _run_ ,” Jon frowns at her, “He wasn’t calling you over to sit and have a drink with him.”

“Why haven’t they turned him do you think?” Arya asks him, “It’s odd isn’t it? They left us…they haven’t turned him…but they took anyone else they could grab.”

“There’s an old story,” Jon muses aloud and wonders if telling her this will spark her imagination or give him a headache later on, “That the Night’s King is a Stark.”

“Well if that’s the case we could use that army of theirs,” Arya grouses quietly, “Where were _they_ when the Lannisters were murdering our family and stealing our home?”

“I don’t think there on our side,” Jon says as his gaze turns towards the keep, “We need to get back…can you stand?”

“I think so,” Arya tells him as she stumbles to her feet, bracing herself on the tree, “Let’s go…just don’t go to fast.”

Jon nods and the two start towards the keep in silence, worn and exhausted but still standing.

 

* * *

 

When she dreams she dreams about running through her beloved home being chased by the dead. Her legs burned with exhaustion as she locked herself in a closet and held the door closed with her feet…

_An axe blasts through the wood, splinters it before being ripped away and the door yanked open. “My Lady,” Lord Hornwood says and she takes his hand, “Hurry my lady…hurry!” he ushers her towards the courtyard. “My sister!” she tells him urgently, “I can’t find Arya!”_

_“Lord Targaryen will find her,” Lord Hornwood tells her quickly, “He went to look for her, last I saw she was running towards the godswood shouting something about your Uncle Benjen.”_

_Sansa stops in her tracks, “My Uncle Benjen?” she says in disbelief, “Do they have him?”_

_“I don’t know,” Lord Hornwood tells her, “We’re---...” he cuts off as he yanks her back behind him and catches the blade of a sword just before it hits her with his own. Sansa presses against the wall as they duel, careful to stay back from the fight. In one swift swing he beheads the creature and the grabs her hand, pulling her along with him down the hall. “As I was saying,” he says to her, “We’re sealing everyone into the crypt…it’s easily more defendable then wood doors. One door in and one door out, simple and effective.”_

_“And if they get in we’ll be trapped,” Sansa says worriedly._

_“It’s the best we’ve got,” he tells her, “Pray to the seven they don’t get in.”_

“My lady,” a servant is watching her from the far wall worriedly as she jerks awake.

“I’m fine,” she smiles faintly at the servant though she’s far from fine right now, “I was just dreaming.”

Aegon’s been gone for nearly an hour now, and as she glances towards the remaining men by the stone doors, ready to defend it with their last breath, secretly praying to the seven nothing else will come this day she hopes he will be true to his word and be back soon.

She gets her answer at the sound of Jon’s voice and she’s on her feet, shouting for him. She climbs past the guards and throws her body weight against the stone doors, peering at him through the crack. “Jon!”

“Thank the seven,” he looks relieved, more so then he ever has. He helps her put the doors open and ushers the survivors out. Embracing her he laughs his relief and Sansa smiles against the worn leather of his armor. “I had thought the worst…Arya and I couldn’t find anyone.”

“You found Arya?” Sansa says with wide eyes.

“Oh I found him really,” Arya grins from behind him.

“Arya!” Sansa shouts, rushing to her sister and embracing her, “I thought you were dead…thank the seven.”

“We thought the same of all of you,” Arya tells her, “They didn’t take us Sansa, they had us but they didn’t take us. They’ve got Uncle Benjen too.”

“Did you see him? Is he alive?” Hope blossoms in her chest at these words, the very idea that her Uncle was still alive was overjoying.

“Yes,” Arya tells her, “Or at least I think he is. He certainly looked alive, he was sort of yelling at me to run though.”

“I told her not to go out there,” Jon scolds in the background, “but she never listens.”

“They had Uncle Ben!” Arya counters, “I wasn’t just going to leave him!”

“Where’s Aegon?” Sansa asks Jon after she releases Arya, “He promised he’d come back when he found you two.”

“Probably still out looking for me then,” he tells her, “He’ll circle back and we’ll flag him down.”

“For now,” Sansa says as she looks at the worn and beaten survivors, “Let’s get these people warm and fed. The dead have no need for jewels or food or clothes…let’s see what’s left.”

 

* * *

 

Far away on a northern road, Oberyn Martell rides across the countryside. Long had he left his guards in the dust of his trail, he meant to reach Winterfell by nightfall though it would probably take days. The snow and sleet are dangerous in winter in the North. It was treacherous to travel these roads, but he was willing to risk it. There was something wrong and he feared he would be too late to reach Sansa. How many times over was he going to curse himself for failing her like this, Ellaria’s voice haunted his thoughts with a tone of condemnation.

In truth he’d believed Sansa would call him if she needed him. It wasn’t like he stayed away because he cared nothing, it was because she hadn’t told him there was anything wrong.

She shouldn’t have had to call though…he knew her better than that and he should have been paying attention to the signs.

_Damn…_

He pulls his horse to a slamming halt as the fog of snow and mist crawls across the land like a living thing. A hail of wind and snow blasts across the land and he knows something is wrong. Jumping the saddle, he pulls the horse away from the road and takes shelter behind the outcropping of a hill. Hidden beneath the overhang he listens, the sound of silent footsteps. It was no army he’d ever seen before; no army was ever so silent. Peering around the edge he sees the feet of a horse, a horse that’s been long dead for years. On its back rides a man with skin and hair the color of milk, his eyes a burning ice blue. His armor shimmered in the faint light, a multitude of color like a prism held against the sun. Behind him followed an army of the dead, and some of those men…some of them wore the Stark colors.

No… _it can’t be_.

Panic races through his blood as the army passes, unaware of his presence. When they’d gone he takes his horse and rides for Winterfell on the wind of panic alone, a new determination to reach Winterfell taking hold of his heart. He had to reach Sansa…she can’t be dead…she can’t be.

 

* * *

 

Inside the keep of Winterfell people are split into groups. One tends to the injured, one tends to the damage, and the other works on a new plan. Jon helps with the battle plans, Sansa tends to the injured and Arya being who she is, is outside trying to work out how to defend the gaping hole in the east wall.

Working with the injured puts a sense of purpose in Sansa’s mind, something that’s always given her fire. She craves that purpose; she needs to be useful. To many years she was treated like she was nothing but a burden, to many years people abused and beat her into submission. Now she was in control, now she was useful.  When she’d finished with her work for the day she dumped the wash bucket aside and went up to her bedchambers. It was fairly still intact. She righted a few overturn chairs and tables and cleaned up the wash basin which had been thrown to the floor. After that she could sit by the hearth and think. It was during this thinking that Jon found her, or rather unintentionally walked in on her. He stops in the door and looks away, “Forgive me I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“No it’s fine,” Sansa says softly, “What is it?”

“I needed to talk to you…I just hadn’t realized…”

“No it’s fine,” Sansa tells him, pulling her over gown tighter around her body, “I’m decent.”

“I was,” Jon pauses for a moment, “It’s nothing.” He turns to leave but stops at the sound of Sansa’s voice.

“What’s wrong?” Sansa says softly, frowning.

“We haven’t heard from the Wall,” he tells her, “Either the messages are being intercepted or…”

“Or they’re all dead,” Sansa nods, “I know.”

“I’ve seen these armies before Sansa,” he tells her softly, “There’s more then what we saw last night…they’re so much more and I can’t help but think they haven’t all crossed into Westeros yet. I worry they’ll be nobody to stop them when they reach the Wall…”

“Go,” Sansa says softly without looking at him. Instead her eyes are on the hearth, “Go to the Wall Jon. I know it’s what your heart truly longs for.”

“What?” he says, frowning at her, “Sansa I can’t abandon Winterfell.”

“Jon,” Sansa smiles at him now, “You never wanted this…you want to sit on top of a frozen Wall and feel the icy wind on your face and guard the seven kingdoms. You were born for it, it’s in your blood. Mine is the blood of Winter and this is my home. Go…I’ll take care of the North. You have a duty as a black brother, you swore an oath. However, I am concerned that they might try and kill you again.”

“Something tells me they’ll be happy to see the front of me I think,” Jon smiles wryly at her, “if anyone’s still alive up there.”

“You did well you know,” she tells him softly, “You’d have made Father proud.”

“I did my best,” he tells her, “It’s all I could have done. I’ll tell Aegon to stay here with you until Dany arrives. I don’t think they’ll be coming back again honestly but just to be safe we’re preparing for a second siege. I won’t give up Winterfell without a fight.”

“And neither will I,” Sansa smiles at him gently, “Be careful out there Jon Snow.”

He grins at her, the sound of his name ringing in the air. It’s been so long since he could just be himself again instead of the man people expected him to be, “Will do. Can you tell Dany I’m sorry?”

“I think you should tell her yourself really,” Sansa says softly, “But I will pass on the message. Honestly Jon you should have told her what was in your heart to begin with.”

“I know,” he sighs as he rubs his face, “I was a fool.”

“Arya’s going to be devastated,” Sansa adds softly.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” he tells her.

“She loves you Jon,” Sansa says as she looks at him, “Not Aegon… _you_.”

He smiles faintly, “I love her as a sister…always have.”

“You need to tell her that Jon,” Sansa says softly, “You need to let her go.”

“Nothing like heartbreak before a journey,” he says tiredly before he pulls on his riding gloves, “I’ll speak to her.”

“Be kind to her Jon,” Sansa tells him, “I think she struggles a lot these days…more than she admits too.”

 

* * *

 

In the cold of the night Arya Stark stands on the battlements, staring out at the dark expanse of land before her. She was stronger than any of them she imagines, stronger then they think she is. Nobody really even knows what she’s been through, what she’s survived all these years. At the east wall men work tirelessly to pile stone and brick against the east wall, a formidable block to hold out the masses. Beside her on the ground is a bottle of warm brandy, and occasionally she’ll take a sip to shake the chill from her bones. Her eyes on the sky she wonders when Aegon will return with Rhaegal. He’d arrived just before sunset and helped with defensive battle plans for another siege. Now he’s gone out again to scout the area. If they were coming, he would see them and be able to raise the alarm.

Nobody wanted to hear it though…even Arya hoped for silence, no warning cries from Rhaegal signaling another attack. Nobody wanted another attack.

“Drinking?” Jon says as he comes to stand with her on the battlements.

“Just trying to keep warm,” she sniffs lightly as he takes a sip from the brandy and then hands her back the bottle.

“Where did you find that?” he laughs a little.

“The dead don’t drink,” she says plainly.

The silence between them is deafening and Arya notices his odd silence before adding, “What is it?” she sighs as she looks at him, “you’re never this quiet.”

“I’m leaving,” he says, “for the Wall.”

“Good thing too,” Arya nods, “We need help and if we’re lucky they’re still alive out there. When will you be back?”

“No,” Jon says gently, “I mean I’m going to stay there…they’ll need me.”

“What?” Arya turns on him, “Why? Jon your needed here. Your _Warden of the North_ now, you can’t just _leave_!”

“Sansa’s taken back the title,” he tells her softly, “I’m better suited for the Wall anyways…I never wanted any of this.”

“Jon you can’t go,” Arya says firmly, “You can’t leave…we need you here.”

“You’ve got Aegon and Rhaegal,” he tells her, “and Dany will be here soon.”

“You can’t just _relinquish a title_ ,” Arya says pointedly.

“I can and I have,” Jon tells her, “Dany will understand. Somebody has to go to the Wall and defend it and I’m the only one who’s seen the true power of these creatures and their armies. That wasn’t everything they had. There’s more I’m certain of it…and they’ll need help fending them off.”

“But they tried to _kill you_!” Arya glares at him, “In fact if I remember correctly, they _did_ kill you!”

“Something tells me they’ll be singing a different tune when I get there,” Jon tells her with a half-smile.

“If they’re even still alive when you get there,” Arya all but snarls at him.

“ _Arya_ ,” he sighs tiredly.

“Jon just stay…stay here with me,” she says softly, sadly.

“This can’t happen,” he says to her, “Me and you…this can’t happen. I love you Arya…with every part of me but I love you as a man loves his sister, nothing more.”

“But you’re not my brother,” she tells him quietly, “you’re my cousin, if that’s what’s bothering you Jon…”

“ _No_ ,” he cuts her off gently, “No that’s not it…though it would bother me had we actually been brother and sister. I just don’t feel that way about you Arya, I really don’t think I’m meant for it honestly. I dream about the Wall you know…all the time. My duty is to the Wall; I swore an oath.”

“Damn your oath!” Arya shouts at him angrily, “I…” she shakes her head and turns away from him, “Never mind…just go.”

“ _Arya_ ,” he starts but she cuts him off.

“I said _go_ ,” she says forcefully, hiding the hurt on her face.

He sighs and steps closer, pulling her into his embrace whether she likes it or not. She hugs him back after a moment, tears on her cheeks as he kisses her forehead tenderly, “I’ll still miss you though.”

“I’ll miss you too,” she whispers back, “Jon please don’t go.”

“I have too,” he tells her, “and I need you to promise me you’ll take care of Sansa while I’m gone. She’ll need all the help she can get. The banners will answer her call…if we can even find any of them. Though I think she’ll still need your help.”

“Oh I don’t know, Sansa’s pretty formidable,” Arya says with a tentative smile, “You haven’t seen her do battle with her shoe…it’s kind of scary honestly.”

Jon laughs against her hair, his breath warm on her scalp, “I’d be terrified.”

They both laugh and step away from each other, Jon wiping the tears from her cheeks with the soft leather of his black riding gloves, “Promise me Arya.”

“I promise,” she says with exasperation, “Only if you promise to not die again.”

“I’ll try,” he smiles faintly, “I just can’t promise that.”

“Try _hard_ ,” she says with a quirked eyebrow.

“I will,” he smiles down at her. They stand on the battlements together for a while longer until Jon knows he must go, and she watches him leave at first light with a heavy heart though she knows deep down this is the right thing to do.

“Look after him Father,” Arya whispers into the wind, “Guard him as I know you’ve watched over Sansa and I all these years.” The wind only whips through her hair and she feels like it’s an answering presence, and smile curves her lips because she knows…she knows he’ll be alright.

 

* * *

 

When the dawn arrives everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief. Aegon arrives on the wings of sunrise and lands in the courtyard.

“Anything?” Sansa is there first, her red hair swinging behind her as she approaches him.

“Nothing,” he tells her, “I don’t understand how they can disappear and reappear so quickly.”

“What of the bannermen?” she presses.

“I raised the alarm at every keep I could find,” he tells her, “They’re all mobilizing now as we speak.”

“Excellent,” Sansa sighs in relief, “Jon’s gone.”

“I know,” Aegon says, “I expected as much, he went to the Wall didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Sansa tells him softly, “You two were talking weren’t you?”

“Yes,” he grins at her, “Jon’s mad for the Wall I think…do you suppose they’ll be wedding invitations soon?”

“Jon’s dutiful,” Sansa points out as they walk into the keep together, “and loyal to his oath.”

“As you are loyal to the North,” he smiles faintly at her, “Has my aunt arrived yet?”

“No,” he shakes her head, “Not so much as a whiff of dragon for miles until you came.”

“She’ll be here soon I hope,” Aegon tells her, “and I want to check on Jon when she does.”

“You’re leaving us too?” Sansa asks worriedly.

“You’ll have Drogon,” he reassures her, “He’s half as big as Balarion the black dread but no less terrifying,” he tells her with a small smile, “and my aunt is scarier when angered then anything they’ve got. Between your shoe and my aunt, I think the both of you’d win the war in a pinch.”

“You’re still going on about me and my shoe are you?” she laughs a little, “I can’t believe your Uncle told you that story.”

“Clobber me with your shoe would you?” he grins at her, “Such _fire_.”

“You were being an ass,” she points out.

“I was,” he agrees, “I really didn’t like anyone with the name of Stark at first to be honest.”

“You were terribly kind to me however,” she counters, “two-faced a bit I think.”

“I’m diplomatic,” he argues, “You of all people should understand that. Kind to a person’s face, well-mannered even when you want to clobber them with your shoe.”

“Cersei Lannister,” Sansa nods as she ponders his words.

“Hated her that much did you?” Aegon asks.

“I did and still do,” she tells him, “Miserable cow.”

He laughs at her words as they split up and tend to their individual duties for the day. The first thing Sansa does when she’s alone is write to Doran and warn him about the white walkers. He needed to know, he needed to be ready…

_Sansa…_

It was like her name was whispered on the wind and she freezes at the desk she where she sits, listening. The wind howls through the cracks of the windows and she hears her name again, softer this time, it almost sounded like Bran…

“Bran?” she says as she stands, opening the window and peering outside. The day is cold and windy and the snow drifts down lazily from the sky. Across the courtyard and in another part of the keep she can see the godswood where all the trees are barren save for one, the heart tree. For some bizarre reason it never fell in line with the seasons, it never lost its color and the leaves never changed. Weirwood trees have always been bizarre like that, some say they were born and bred for the winter. “Bran…is that you?” she whispers to the wind softly. Then as she stares she sees her, a child of the forest with wide green eyes watching her from the godswood. “ _Leaf_.”

“Lady Stark?” calls a voice from outside her chambers, “We need you downstairs my lady…we’ve got a bit of a problem.”

“ _Coming_!” Sansa calls but when she turns to look back out the window Leaf is gone.

 

* * *

 

The keep is in an uproar downstairs. When she enters the room a hush falls over them all, and Lord Tallhart steps forward to speak first. “My lady,” he tells her, “My lady the food stores…we’ve got hardly a day’s ration’s left.”

“Apparently the dead _do_ get hungry,” one of the others says dryly.

“So they mean for us to starve to death,” Sansa says to Lord Tallhart, “is that why they haven’t come back?”

“I would think so,” Lord Tallhart responds, “My lady, let me take a ranging out…we’ll hunt for food.”

“In the dead of winter Lord Tallhart?” Sansa asks skeptically, “My Lord what makes you think anything still lives out there?”

“It has too my lady,” he tells her, “Hopes all we’ve got left when the bread’s gone.”

“We’ll still have plenty of ale though,” another chimes in cheerfully.

“No drink,” Sansa says quickly, “It would do nobody any good to get drunk right now. We need to find food first…Lord Tallhart take a range out and hunt for food. I want what’s left of the food divided up into smaller portions, we need to make it last longer than a day. Children will eat first before anyone else do I make myself clear?”

The answering grumbles told her they would obey, and she nodded her agreement before grabbing a basket and heading down towards the cellars to help divide food. She wanted to have a hand in this so she was certain everything was done correctly. Is dark in these cellar halls but the torches light her way easily. Down here where it’s oldest she can hear the spring water humming through the walls, the only place that hadn’t needed to be rebuilt from the ground up. It was warm down here, it made the walls damp and the floors slippery. She rounds a corner and then another, headed for the pantry when she turns a corner and slides to a halt, staring at that which was before her.

His back was to her but she could easily identify him in the torchlight. “Lord Hornwood?” she says softly, joy rushing through her. He was a good man and a trusted ally in these dark days. She’d thought he’d been killed in the fight because she hadn’t seen him since he’d gotten her to safety inside the crypt. “My Lord?” she says again tentatively. He turns to face her and she immediately knows something’s wrong. His breath rattles in his lungs, and that very well be because of the gouging hole in his chest. She screams and drops the basket in her hands, stumbling backwards against the wall. His eyes are the brightest cerulean blue she’s ever seen, especially since his eyes were supposed to be brown. The sword in his hand drips with blood and now she can see why. When he steps towards her she spots the dead servant girl behind him, and has a nasty feeling that won’t be the only body they’d find down in the cellars…

“Lord Hornwood it’s me,” Sansa pleads as she backs away from him, “Lady Stark…Sansa Stark, you know me. I’m Eddard Stark’s daughter, your _friend’s_ daughter. You know me…Lord Hornwood _you know me_! They killed your son…and now they’ve murdered you, don’t let them win! _Fight it_!”

He raises the sword and Sansa screams, staggering away from him. Then suddenly he lowers it and she thinks he’s fighting it, fending off whatever creature controls him. He steps past her and walks down the corridor, Sansa watching him go with fear and confusion mingled on her face.

“Sansa?” Arya’s voice rings down the corridor.

“Arya watch out!” Sansa screams, “It’s one of them, Lord Hornwood is one of them!”

“What---….” Arya cuts off and yells as he rounds a corridor and steps past her. “Oi!” she shouts and chases after him needle in her hand.

“Arya leave him!” Sansa shouts, chasing after her sister, “Don’t go near him!”

“Look out!” somebody shouts as the wight steps out into the daylight and starts towards the gates of Winterfell.

“Nobody touch it!” Sansa shouts, “Something’s not right!”

“Piss on that,” one villager says as he swings the shovel in his hands with all his might and hits what used to be Lord Hornwood right in the face.

The wights reaction is immediate and swift. He rips the shovel from the villager’s hand and swings, knocking the man out with one good hit. Dropping the shovel, he continues on as if nothing had happened.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Aegon says as he runs up to Sansa, “Are you alright?”

“I found him in the cellars…Aegon I think the servants are all dead down there.”

“We have to burn them,” Aegon says quickly, “before they come back.”

“Where’s he going?” Sansa says as they watch the retreating form of the wight, “why did he just…leave us? He skipped Arya and I both like we weren’t even there.”

“The white walkers skipped Jon and I the other night too,” Arya says as she steps up beside her sister, “They just left us where we were and kept going. Jon tried to fight one but it just took the sword from his hand and tossed it in the pond. Knocked him out too, and then I passed out and that was the end of it.”

“I’m going out on Rhaegal to track him,” Aegon tells Sansa, “We need to burn him before he can rejoin the main army. I don’t want him passing on any messages,” Aegon says and then pauses to add, “If he can do that.”

When Aegon walks away Sansa turns to Arya with a frown curving her lips, “Arya…you told me they had Uncle Benjen.”

“They did I saw him,” Arya tells her.

“They haven’t done anything to him either have they?”

“No,” Arya says, “He looked alright to me.”

“But why was he out there?” Sansa frowns.

“Jon thought they were trying to lure us out,” Arya suggests.

“Or they were returning him,” Sansa says suddenly as if an idea had occurred to her. “Arya I need to go to the godswood, take over for me. I’ll be back soon.”

“Now isn’t the time to be visiting the weirwood!” she yells at her sister’s retreating back, “We’ve got wights in the cellar and dead servants and food shortages…SANSA!”

Sansa was already gone.

 

* * *

 

Under the heart tree she sits before the frozen pond which once housed her cousin’s sword, courtesy of an irate white walker. “Leaf!” she calls aloud, “Leaf I know you can hear me!” she shouts irritably, “LEAF!”

“Stop your shouting!” hisses a gravelly voice from high up in the tree, “I can hear you just fine if you must know.”

“Why didn’t the white walkers attack us?” Sansa asks quickly.

Leaf glances at the castle and then at her, “I do believe they did.”

“You know what I mean,” Sansa says, “Why did they leave Jon and Arya and I alone?”

“That’s a long story,” Leaf explains simply.

“Tell it to me,” Sansa says as she sits down on the log under the tree, “I’ve got the time.”

“Once,” Leaf begins reluctantly, “In the days of dragons and dragon riders we lived in prosperity in Westeros. It was our home long before it was yours. Long before the First Men came to steal it from us. In those days’ people wielded magic as well as a sword. To every season there is an opposite as you know, the summer and the winter, the spring and the fall. It is the same with dragons and their riders, you see to the fire must come the ice. Beyond the wall and before it existed the people of the Ice lived in peace. We were a peaceful people until the day our two species came across each other. The ice killed the trees and the land and we went to war to prevent it. Both sides wielded magic you see, so it was an endless cycle of violence.  Until one day, our two peoples came to a truce. We agreed that neither would ever harm the other unless provoked. They would not attack us and we would not attack them. We would leave each other in peace and be done with it.” Leaf explains to her quietly, her eyes distant as she gazes up at the sky. “So much bloodshed…so many lost in such a gruesome battle and neither one the victor. It was our only choice after a while.”

“And the Starks…” Sansa blinks up at her, “There are stories that the blood of the children runs through our veins,” she says as understanding sparkles in her eyes, “They can’t hurt us because we’ve got the blood of the children in us!”

“Indeed,” Leaf nods her agreement, “Now you understand.”

Sansa falls silent as she stares up at Leaf and then down at the pond. She’s so quiet one would think she’d fallen asleep until suddenly she begins to laugh. It bubbles out of her uncontrollably, and she can’t seem to stop laughing. It was the funniest most ironic thing Sansa Stark had heard in _years_. For years the people of Westeros robbed and murdered the Starks, abused them…beat them down…and now for once it was the Starks who had the upper hand and it was against the most dangerous creatures Westeros has ever faced.

Sansa Stark hadn’t laughed so hard in months.

 

 

 


	61. Chapter 61

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game Of Thrones.

Dinner inside the keep is far from cheerful. Most are silent as they eat what rations they are given. Heavy hearts and sober faces all around, Sansa can’t help but feel responsible. Even Arya with her boundless optimism is quiet, and this disheartens Sansa. The news Leaf gave her sparked some hope however, that the Starks had a foothold in this war that no other had. She’d told Arya the story when she returned from the godswood, and the younger Stark girl had been silent and pensive ever since.

“It won’t protect them though,” Arya murmurs during dinner as she glances at Sansa, “Their blood isn’t ours.”

“True,” Sansa says softly so no one might overhear their conversation, “but I thought perhaps if we made a stand against them. What if I claimed them as my own and demanded they relent?”

“The treaty as you said states only with people of the children’s blood are exempt,” Arya replies, “These people are not of the children.”

“We’ll work something out I’m certain,” Sansa reassures her softly. As her eyes flicker across the room she clears her throat and stands, an idea forming in her mind. Music always raised spirits, perhaps if only she just…

_My love, my love_

_For the night is long and the bitter cold stings_

_I long for your embrace_

_I’ve long been at war and I ache for the sight of you_

_I long for your embrace_

The room falls silent when she begins to sing, watching her with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. They listen though, weary and despairing as they were.

_My love, my love_

_For the night is long and the bitter cold stings_

_I long for your embrace_

_The winter chill cannot keep me from you_

_And the blades of my enemies cannot stop me_

_I long for your embrace_

She sings into the night, every northern song she can think of and every dornish lullaby to sooth the sorrow in the room. It may not help them win the fight but it can certainly raise their spirits. Let their enemies hear them sing she thinks to herself, let those foul creatures hear them sing and know that they are of the North and they do not _kneel_.

* * *

 

The Wall is deathly quiet.  He rides up slowly, eyeing the Nightfort pensively. There was no sign of life among these walls. The gates were thrown open and the courtyard was empty.

“Hail!” Jon shouts aloud.

Nothing moves, nothing stirs. Jon’s heart sinks low as he slides from his horse and unsheathes Longclaw. He searches and searches, finding the fortress abandoned. No bodies, no signs of battle.

“They’ve all gone,” a voice says from behind him. It was him, Jon could scarcely place him but he was certain, this was the boy who betrayed him. “Why are you still alive?”

Jon stares at him pensively before he replies, “Why are you?”

“Because I didn’t run,” he tells Jon pointedly, “There’s others too…we’ve been hiding up on top of the wall, they can’t get us up there.”

“They’ve got a dragon,” Jon tells him, “don’t be so certain.”

“A dragon?” The boy asks worriedly.

“A dragon,” Jon nods, “How many left of you are there?”

“Twelve,” he answers quietly.

“ _Twelve_?” Jon frowns, “Out of how many, three, four hundred strong?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” the boy says with dark eyes, “You aren’t one of us anymore…regardless of how you managed to not die.”

“Olly,” Jon sighs, tired of this game, “Take me up there. I can help you all, I know these things and I know how to fight them. There’s more coming, thousands of them and they haven’t gotten beyond the Wall yet. If we act now we can stop them completely but we have to act _now_. We don’t have time for quarreling.”

“With _twelve_ men?” Olly says skeptically, “How are you going to defend the Wall with twelve men?”

“I’ve got a plan,” Jon says as he passes Olly on his way to the lift.

“What plan?” Olly asks as he follows him.

“I dunno yet,” Jon tells him as they climb into the lift and Jon flips the lever, “But I’ll tell you when I figure it out.”

 

* * *

 

Her bed was soft and warm but Sansa could not sleep. She worried for the people downstairs, they despaired so deeply. Aegon had told her that the banners were on the march and should be here soon, and that’s all she could really ask for honestly. Hopefully they brought reinforcements and food with them as well.  The ranging’s she sent out yielded very little save for a few squirrels and some rabbits. They needed proper meat but the deer were scarce now.

When she did at last fall asleep she dreamt of the Iron throne, of Blackfyre lying across the seat. Standing in the dream-hall of the throne room. Walking within these halls they look different, no polished skulls but Targaryen banners still hang from the walls. She stares at the sword and wonders what it was trying to tell her. Perhaps it was telling her Aegon was meant to be King, perhaps he should be King right now…

There was a bizarre noise in the background like the scream of a small child but higher pitched. It echoes in her dreams and wakes her. She sits up in bed and glances towards the window, snow drifts into her room where she’d left the window open. She stands, walks over to the window and stares out into early morning light. Across the expanse of land, she spots where the noise is coming from, and she can’t even believe what she’s seeing. It was a baby dragon, black as smoke crawling across the ground, struggling across the snow. Quickly she springs into action and grabs her cloak before pulling on her shoes and running out the door.

There was a baby dragon outside and she wasn’t about to lose it. When she reaches the gates another cries, louder than the baby rips across the sky. Above her soars the dragon from Kings Landing with no rider on its back. It dives for the infant but the tiny dragon is too quick, skirting across the snow. Due to its tiny size it was easily able to evade capture but it was clearly weakened and tired. Something else unnerved her, something else worried her even more than the giant ice breathing dragon above her head. There at the tree line she was certain stood the dragon’s rider.

Her choice was clear, and without so much as a second thought she broke out at a run across the snow, stumbling over rocks and dips and holes in the ground. When the white walker recognized what she was doing, he surged forward as well. Behind her Sansa could hear the cries of alarmed guards but she ignored them. Her legs ached with the effort but she was going to reach the dragon first regardless. She screams as she runs, diving to and fro as skeletal hands break through the snow and grab at her skirts. Monsters she thinks, wicked creatures these white walkers. They couldn’t simply let the dead rest, they had to employ them for their wicked purposes.

Her skirt gets torn as she runs and she has to stop and pull it free before running again, stumbling to her knees when she reaches the tiny black dragon. It was small enough still to sit on her shoulder and carefully she reaches out to it, cooing softly as she calls it close. “It’s alright…come on…come here,” she whispers with her eyes on the white walker charging forward, “Hurry now…come here…that’s it…that’s it.”

“SANSA!” Arya is screaming in the background somewhere behind her.

“Come here…that’s it,” Sansa says frantically, struggling to keep her voice calm. The white walker has slowed to a walk, looking triumphant.  The tiny black creature creeps towards her slowly, sniffing her outstretched hand. Playfully it snaps at her fingers and she pulls them back quickly, smiling before she glances up. She gasps, scrambling to pull the dragon into her arms as quickly as she can whether it was ready to or not. The white walker had somehow travelled across the land within seconds and was standing not more than a foot away from her.

“ _You can’t hurt me_!” she says quickly, a glitter of triumph in her eyes, “You can’t lay a finger on me or you’ll break the treaty! I have the blood of the children in me, you _can’t_ hurt me! Not without starting a war and I don’t think you want the children involved in this mess as well.”

“Sansa,” Arya’s voice breaks through the chaos, “Sansa get away from him.”

She was somewhere behind her, Sansa was certain. She didn’t dare take her eyes off the white walker as she slowly retreated with the frightened dragon in her arms. If that white walker got his hands on this dragon they’d have two instead of one. She couldn’t afford to let them get ahold of this dragon. The tiny smoke colored dragon scurried up her arm and curled around her neck, hissing at the white walker viciously.  She appreciated the dragon’s loyalty immensely but his claws were digging savagely into her shoulder and she struggled not to cry out. The dragon above them all cries out and the white walker grins, she understands what he’s saying without him ever uttering a word.

 _He_ can’t hurt her…but the dragon can.

Horror surges through her and she shakes her head as she backs away, “You can’t do that! That’s _cheating_!  That dragon is part of your people it can’t hurt me either!” Sansa says frantically, “You _can’t_!”

“SANSA RUN!” Arya screams and Sansa obeys, darting back towards the keep with the dead grabbing at her skirts and the dragon above her swooping low, her gapping maw open in a threat. She can see Arya in the distance, running towards her and screaming her name. The dragon on her shoulders is frightened and cries out, burrowing beneath her long fiery hair. Then abruptly the world tips and Sansa screams, hitting the ground hard as her head smacks against a rock buried in the snow.

The world goes dark and she hears Arya screaming, the sound of a dragon’s cry and suddenly without warning the bright bursting light of dragon fire and a roar so loud it shook the ground beneath her…then nothing.

 

* * *

 

She’s warm when she comes too next. She hears voices, one was feminine, the other was masculine and heavily dornish. The dornishmen was yelling she thinks, or at least very cross. Another voice, one she was certain was Aegon was trying to calm the dornishmen but to no avail.

“What happened?” Oberyn’s voice can be heard outside the door.

“She went after that dragon in the snow,” Aegon explains.

“And you allowed her too?” Oberyn snarls at his nephew, “You let her run out there on her own?”

“I was _asleep_ ,” Aegon argues defensively, “How would I know that Sansa would suddenly want to go for a run in the field at six in the morning?” There’s some kind of noise like someone rushing up the stairs and then Aegon asks, “How’s my aunt? Is she alive?”

“She’ll live,” says the voice of the maester, “she took a nasty fall but mercifully the snow broke her fall, nothing was broken.”

“Thank the seven,” Aegon breaths in relief.

“I’m going to sit with my wife,” says the sour dornishmen before the door of her room opens and a familiar presence sits on the bed beside her. She wants to open her eyes, she knows that voice and the sweet musk so familiar to Oberyn, it was him and he was here and all she wanted was to feel his arms around her.

“Sleep Sansa,” he murmurs and she wonders if he knew she was awake, “go back to sleep and in a little while we’ll talk.” He brushes the hair from her face and the weight of his body presses beside her, warm and reassuring and easily she drifts back to sleep, curled against his embrace.

 

* * *

 

When she next wakes, it’s morning again. She blinks against the light pouring in through the windows. Beside her is a frumpy looking dornishmen who’s clearly been up and down all night. Her head aches something fierce and she winces when her fingers graze the cut just above her left eyebrow. “What,” says the dornishmen as he notices her stir, “On earth were you thinking Sansa?”

“Oberyn,” she breaths his name like an answered prayer and rolls onto her side to look at him. He looks exhausted and she reaches out to brush the curling black hair of his away from his face. “I missed you so much.”

“Ellaria wrote to me,” he tells her softly, “You should have told me it was getting this bad.” He catches her wrist in his hand and kisses the inside of it, right over her pulse, “You don’t know how scared I was when I arrived in time to witness two dragons in battle and my wife unconscious on the ground below.”

“Dragons,” Sansa murmurs and then starts quickly, “Dragons…the baby…”

“Is fine,” he reassures her, “Aegon took it into the crypt to keep it warm and fed it bits of salted meat.”

She nods and relaxes back into the pillows, “What happened?”

“Daenerys happened,” he smiles faintly, “She fought off that dragon with Drogon.”

“How is Arya?” she asks, a faint memory of her sister screaming in the background.

“She’s well,” he says to her softly, “She’s gone out on a range with the men.”

“ _What_?” Sansa almost falls out of bed, whipping around to look at Oberyn, “No she _can’t_!”

“I gave her permission my love,” Oberyn tells her gently, “she’ll be fine.”

“Oberyn you can’t just…” he hushes her sentence with a finger pressed to her lips.

“I haven’t been here enough,” he tells her gently, “and I’ve managed Winterfell on my own for a day and a half now just fine. I want you to rest and I am going to deal with the North.”

“Brace yourself,” Sansa says dryly as she lies back on the pillows, “Arya’s a whole lot scarier than a bunch of angry northerners when provoked.”

“I’m certain if she’s anything like Arianne in a bad mood I can handle her,” he grins at his wife, “as for you my love…I want you to stay put and I’ll send for some breakfast.”

Breakfast turned out to be bits of bread and dornish sour that Oberyn had brought with him from Dorne for the trip. It made her long for Dorne, for the smell of the summer sea and the cold wind in her hair. Dorne had become like Winterfell for her, both places were her home and both had qualities she longed for every day. She took a bath after, Oberyn helping her into the tub while sitting on the edge, gently washing her hair for her. “You need to eat more my love,” he says softly, his warm fingers sliding over slick pale skin.

“We’ve got hardly anything to eat as it is,” Sansa muses allowed, “I assure you when we’ve food aplenty I’ll eat as much as you like.”

“I’ll be sure to remind Aegon that he needs to visit the other houses and find us more food,” Oberyn smiles faintly.

“Aegon’s not our messenger boy Oberyn,” Sansa scolds him lightly, “He’s the crown prince, I’m sure he’s got other matters to tend to.”

“Not if his Uncle requests him personally,” Oberyn grins knowingly, “I’ll get the boy to do as I ask.”

“Oh don’t abuse your power as an Uncle,” Sansa laughs.

“If not to get my wife food then what should it be used for?” Oberyn quirks an eyebrow at her before bending low to kiss her tenderly, “Close your eyes.”

She obeys as he pours warm water over her head and rinses the soap from her hair and body. Stepping out of the tub she wraps herself in a towel and Oberyn strips down to bath himself behind her. She goes and kneels by the hearth, prodding the fire to make it brighter while Oberyn scrubs himself clean. She combs and braids her hair and pulls on a clean gown before tugging on warm boots and soft gloves.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Oberyn quirks an eyebrow at her, naked as the day he was born as he steps from the copper tub to dry himself.

“I want to see the dragon,” Sansa tells him softly.

“Sansa you’ve been asleep for a day and a half,” he tells her gently, “I want you to stay in bed until you’ve fully recovered.”

“I’ll be fine,” she says as she steps up to him, pressing her lips to his, “thank you for coming home.”

“I’d have come sooner if I’d known you were hiding things from me,” he says pointedly.

 She flushes pink and looks to the side as she answers, “I shouldn’t have hidden anything from you, but I was concerned for Dorne. I know how Doran is…”

“The kingdom was at peace at that point,” he says, “I think Doran could have spared me for a month or two.”

“I shouldn’t have had to ask you to be here,” she blurts out suddenly, her shoulders tense. She turns to look at him wearily, “I’ve spent six years rebuilding the North. I fortified it…I made it strong again. I walked in my Father’s shoes for so long…and it’s hard doing that alone. I know Doran needs you, I know he needs you in Dorne. I need you here though…not just for a month or two…I need you _here_ , Oberyn.”

“Then what is it you want of me Sansa?” Oberyn says tiredly, a towel tied at his waist with his hands outstretched in exasperation, “Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”

“Live here with me, permanently,” she says pointedly, “I’m wardenness again now that Jon’s gone to the Wall. I _need_ you here…I need my husband at my side. I can do this alone believe me Oberyn I can,” Sansa says firmly, “but I don’t want too. I want you to be here with me, I _want_ to share my life with you not parts of it whenever I can visit you.”

They both stand in silence before Oberyn nods, “If that’s what you want, I will do it,” he tells her softly. “I’m not sure if Ellaria’s going to be overly fond of the idea though.” He smiles wryly at her.

“Ellaria will survive I’m sure,” Sansa rolls her eyes, her heart light as she embraces, “Thank you,” she mummers as she kisses his cheek, “Thank you.”

“Anything for you my love,” he reassures her, “now…unless you have other ideas I suggest you go and visit your dragon least I decide to hold you in here with me.” He grins and Sansa giggles at the thought.

“Later,” she whispers in his ear and darts away before he can grab her, giggling all the way out the bedroom door.

 

* * *

 

Outside a winter storm was whipping snow and dirt in every direction. Sansa pushed her way through it and down into the crypt where she found Dany, sitting under the light of a torch with the baby dragon edging closer to her as she holds out a piece of salted meat. Sansa yanks the door closed with a little effort, the wind made it difficult to do anything.

“Hey,” Dany smiles when she sees her, “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Sansa smiles, “My eyebrow hurts though. I heard you fell from Drogon.”

“The impact knocked me clear from his saddle,” Dany admits, “I understand Drogon fought him off though. He’s a warrior you know…like my husband was.” Dany tells her, a sad sort of sparkle in her eyes as she reminisces on her lost beloved.

“What was he like?” Sansa asks as she comes to sit beside Dany.

“Drogo was a Khal of the Dothraki,” she tells her softly, “he was…strong and fierce. A good Khal to his people.”

“and that made you….?” Sansa quirks an eyebrow, unfamiliar with Dothraki customs.

“A Khalessi,” she tells Sansa, “it’s a sort of queen I suppose but for the Dothraki.”

Sansa nods, her gaze turning towards the little black dragon. Her hand outstretched she slides her fingers over the scales of his head. Dany watches the exchange before she asks, “What are you going to name him?”

“Name him?” Sansa frowns, blinking at Dany, “But I thought…”

“You risked your life for him,” Dany smiles faintly, “I think it’s only fair you get to keep him.”

“You’re giving him to me?” Sansa says aloud in awe.

“Yes,” Dany grins at her, “I think Winterfell could use a dragon, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Sansa agrees as she looks at the little black dragon. He was the color of smoke streaked with silver. “He must have been a child of Silverwing. It would explain why they were chasing him. I wonder if there are any other hatchlings out there?”

“I don’t know,” Dany says as she watches the dragon, “So…any ideas for a name?”

Sansa stares at the little dragon and an image flashes in her mind, a recollection of a dream before she smiles and nods, “Blackfyre…his name is Blackfyre.”

 

 


	62. Chapter 62

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

_Dany,_

_I’ve rejoined the Nights watch and plan to take up again as Lord Commander. I know this seems sudden and I’m sorry for that. I failed you I suppose; I know you wanted more from me. I never wanted to be a Prince, I always knew my place was on the Wall. ~~I expect you’ll demand I come home and wear frilly~~ I expect you’ll be disappointed but allow me to explain. Winter’s in my blood just as much as it’s in Sansa’s, but while her place is in Winterfell mine is on the Wall, guarding it. There are few left here on the Wall and I’ll need Aegon as soon as you can spare him. Dragon fire is the only real weapon we have against these things, we need to find a better solution but I think diplomacy won’t work with these creatures, they’re entirely unreasonable, believe me I’ve tried. So I suppose this letter is my official resignation from the throne, ~~it just isn’t for me honestly~~. I’m just not meant to rule a kingdom, I’m better suited elsewhere.  _

_I’m sorry._

_Jon-_

She’s read the letter three or four times now and still finds herself frustrated. Worry races through her blood because Jon was her last hope. From the time when she was with the Dothraki she has been barren. Aegon could marry her but she could never give him heirs. Dany knew she needed to find Aegon a proper bride, and she for a time has been considering Arianne Martell. She came from a good family and had good breeding, she was young and strong and highly intelligent. Arianne would make a good Queen for Aegon. With those thoughts she began to write a letter herself to Doran Martell with the request she had in mind.

 

_Prince Doran of House Martell,_

_I write to you with a proposal in mind that I wonder if you might adhere too. My nephew Aegon Targaryen is in need of a bride, and I would like to unite our two families by asking for your consent to wed your daughter Arianne Martell to my nephew. I understand your daughter to be kind and highly intelligent, all the makings of a good queen for my nephew._

_I await your reply._

_Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen_

_Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, of the Andals and of the First Men, Lady of Dragonstone_

With that written she seals the letter with the Targaryen insignia and stares at the parchment in her hands. One problem down, forty to go.  The squawking outside makes Dany take pause and glance out the window, smiling faintly at the sight of Sansa Stark with a baby dragon flapping against the wind on her shoulder. She remembered the days when Drogon was small enough to sit on her shoulder. Blackfyre would grow quickly though, and within a year he’d be big enough to ride. She would have to make arrangements for Sansa so that Blackfyre would have armor when he was old enough. Considering dragons, she turns her mind to Jon’s letter once more. Viserion still needed a rider and there was no better than Jon. The question was of course; would Jon accept him? Jon needs a dragon at the Wall and she needed Aegon back in Kings Landing so she could deal with other matters. He needed to practice ruling a kingdom anyways, and what better way than to have him sit the Iron Throne for a while so she can deal with these white walkers.

It was settled.

 

* * *

 

Sitting under the heart tree Sansa fed Blackfyre bits of meat that the banners had brought with them when they arrived. At long last they had reinforcements, some of which Dany was mobilizing to aid other Kingdoms. She’d sent Aegon to Highgarden, Casterly Rock, and the Vale to raise the alarm and mobilize every able bodied man to stand and defend their homes. The Greyjoys were next on her list, she would need their ships. All of this Sansa couldn’t really help her with, so instead she left Dany to her own devices and spent the day helping around the keep before coming to rest under the weirwood tree.

“My Father used to come and sit here after a day’s work,” she tells Blackfyre softly, “After every time he had to execute someone too. He’d come here to polish the Stark great sword, Ice.”

Blackfyre only stares at her with his depthless green eyes and blinks. He was more fixated on the meat in her hand then on her story but he was only a baby after all. “Neatly now,” Sansa scolds him lightly when he nearly nips one of her fingers when taking a piece from her hand. “Lady was always far more delicate,” she tells him, “Lady was my direwolf before Cersei Lannister had her killed.”

Carefully she holds up another piece of meat but pulls it back when he snaps at her hand for it, clicking her tongue lightly, “No, no,” she tells him softly, “ _gently_.”

“You do realize that’s a dragon don’t you?” Arya’s voice cuts into her thoughts.

 Sansa glances up and smiles at her sister before looking over at Blackfyre on her shoulder, “Yes, but it doesn’t mean he has to be savage about it.”

“Oh I think you’ll want him savage when there’s white walkers trying to murder the villagers,” Arya points out.

Sansa gives her a vaguely irritated look and then coos softly to Blackfyre as he tentatively takes the slice of beef from her hands. “Good boy.”

“Not a dog either,” Arya adds gruffly, “I came to tell you I was going out on a range.”

This was something Sansa wasn’t pleased with one damn bit. Oberyn seems to think it’s alright however, and tried his best to persuade her into it. He felt that women should be equals in all things, even hunting. Sansa knew that Arya was formidable, that wasn’t in question. She had just hoped maybe Arya would grow out of it. However, Arya never has and probably never will much to Sansa’s chagrin. So she simply nods her assent and sends her sister on her way.

“Just like that,” Arya says in mild disbelief, “You’re just going to let me go? No arguing with me about it first?”

“Just go,” Sansa tells her with a faint smile, “I trust you.”

“Really?” Arya blinks at her.

“Yes, really,” Sansa tells her, “Now go on before I change my mind.”

“Thanks,” Arya smiles at her, a real proper genuine smile that Sansa hasn’t seen light up her face in ages before she dashes off back towards the keep.

“I’m completely mad aren’t I?” she asks Blackfyre thoughtfully as she ponders what she just did, “Just completely mad.”

 

* * *

 

Arya Stark had been on one other ranging before. It wasn’t any different this time though, surrounded by men who bicker and laugh and drink sour red wine from leather pouches to keep warm. Oberyn’s conditions about her going were that she stuck with the group, she didn’t wander off alone and she never under any circumstances lost her sword. It was an extension of her arm and as he put it, _you don’t lose your arm now do you?_ She was also fairly certain despite these conditions the men were secretly charged to look after her aside from hunting, a weight she didn’t want on their shoulders along with finding food for the people at Winterfell. She could look after herself, after all the training in Braavos and with the faceless men, she was more than capable.

She meant to keep her promise honestly, and she supposes in the long run she really did regardless of the side effects. As they rode across the snow covered countryside they approached the little village of Wolf’s Hollow. It used to be called Fallbrough but they changed the name two hundred years ago when a pack of direwolves attacked the village. Ever since it’s been called Wolf’s Hollow and even to this day people claim they hear direwolves singing in the night in the surrounding forests.

“Another village abandoned,” Lord Tallhart says softly, “Poor bastards.”

Arya urges her horse forward, her eyes darting across the village. Over turned tables, market stands ran-sacked and overrun. “Let’s search it,” Arya suggests, “If they’ve gone they won’t need the food.”

“My lady has a point,” Lord Tallhart nods in approval, “Search it.” He orders the rest and they all urge forward, dismounting horses and searching houses.  Arya goes from house to house, scavenging bread and vegetables wherever she can find them. They had about as much as Winterfell did, most of it had gone bad already. Next to the house she stood in she spotted movement and when she turned to look, something or someone darted out of sight through the window of the building next door. Unsheathing needle she steps out of the tiny hut and walks to the one next door, cautiously pushing the front door open.

“Hello?” she calls aloud, “anyone there?”

She picks through the kitchen and out to the back where she sees only an old wooden goat pen and no goats. Back inside the house she searches the rooms until she finds one that looks recently occupied. She doesn’t show that though, pretends she doesn’t notice even as her hand slides over the warmth of the bed sheets and her gaze darts around behind her. Someone was watching her; she could feel the hair on the back of her neck prickle.

“Hello?” she asks tentatively, “It’s alright…I won’t hurt you.”

“Arry?” a man’s voice says and Arya turns towards the sound, her eyes widening at the sight of the man in front of her.

“It’s _you_ ,” she breaths in shock.

 

* * *

 

Night descends on Winterfell along with a violent winter storm that keeps everyone indoors. Blackfyre so unsettled by the racket sleeps curled up on Sansa’s bed much to Oberyn’s displeasure. The dragon doesn’t take to him nearly so well as it does Sansa, and she can’t help but find it amusing when Oberyn tries to reason with it.

“He’s sleeping on my side of the bed,” he points out to his amused wife. “Honestly you would think _he_ were your husband and not I,” Oberyn sighs. “Stubborn beast.”

“He doesn’t know you very well,” Sansa tells him as she coos to the tiny dragon, luring him onto the pillows on her side of the bed, “There, see?”

“If only it were that easy,” Oberyn grumbles as he changes for bed.

Sansa passes though, unable to rest as she repeatedly glances out the window. Finally, Oberyn adds as he watches her, “Sansa…she’s fine. They’ll be back soon.”

“The storm Oberyn, she’s out there in all that mess,” Sansa says worriedly.

“If that is the case then they’ll make camp somewhere and return in the morning,” Oberyn tells her, “Stop worrying and come to bed.”

“What if the white walkers find her?” Sansa asks worriedly.

“I think they’ll find it difficult to sway her,” Oberyn smirks at his wife, “she’s got an awfully hard head.”

“and an even harder will,” Sansa adds with a half-smile, “but I still wish she’d have been back by now.”

Yet they don’t return that night much to Sansa’s despair. It was certainly going to be the last time she ever let’s Arya out of the keep if she came back injured. Yet when the dawn came and her sister returned with the group relief washed over Sansa like a wave. She meets Arya at the gates with Blackfyre curled around her shoulders.

“Sansa!” Arya grins at her sister as she approaches, but she wasn’t alone on her horse. Behind her sat a tall boy with hair as black as night and eyes to match. “Sansa this is my friend Gendry, I found him in one of the abandoned villages.”

Arya jumps down off her horse and rushes up to her sister as Gendry approaches slowly behind them both. Arya’s expression was easily readable to Sansa, _be nice_ it said as Gendry stopped and bowed low before Sansa, “Lady Stark.”

“My lord,” Sansa nods politely, “It is a pleasure.” It was clear to her he wasn’t from any of the high houses, probably not even the lower either.

“Just Gendry my lady,” he says quickly and as politely as he can, “I’m not a lord.”

“I see,” Sansa smiles politely before welcoming the others back. She watches though while Arya thinks she isn’t, her little sister walking side by side with Gendry towards the stables. Her sister wasn’t smitten it seemed, but her sister did seem fond of the stranger. Someone from her past perhaps, Sansa wonders to herself. If it made Arya happy then she was alright with it, just as long as nothing untoward happened between them. She was fairly certain the man was of common birth and entirely ineligible to marry Arya.

“Already planning the wedding?” Oberyn’s voice murmurs near her ear and she grins to herself when Blackfyre nips at Oberyn’s fingers as they brush fire red locks back away from her face.  His eyes were on the pair walking towards the stables as well.

“No I certainly hope not,” Sansa muses allowed, “He’s of common birth, that much is certain.”

“So?” Oberyn quirks an eyebrow at her, “Ellaria is of common birth.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Sansa tells him softly, “I just meant…Arya needs to make an advantageous marriage.”

“I don’t think your sister is interested in marriage honestly,” he tells her as she takes his arm, walking with him back into the keep.

“It’s my responsibility to see to her welfare,” Sansa explains, “I am the matriarch of the family now, I have to make sure everyone gets to where they need to be. Ordinarily my Father would be doing this…but now that he’s gone…” Sansa sighs heavily, it still made her heart ache when she thought of her parents and her brothers.

“I think your sister can see to her own welfare my love,” he tells her softly, “You have to stop trying to manage everyone’s lives. You can only do so much you know.”

“I don’t manage everyone’s _lives_ ,” Sansa says indignantly.

“You picked out what I was going to wear this morning,” he tells her knowingly with a grin on his face.

“I happen to like that shirt,” she tells him, “I had it made for you for your name day last year.”

“You manage the kitchens, the books…”

“It’s part of the job,” she smiles wryly at him.

  
“The captain of the guard tells me you’ve been snooping in his armory plans as well,” he says as he looks at her expectantly.

“I know nothing of warfare,” Sansa sniffs, “but I do know something about cost and expense. I wanted to make sure we were getting our money’s worth. My Father used to do it all the time, I was just doing what I thought was expected of me.”

“ _Sansa_ ,” he sighs. “You wanted me here to take some of the weight… _let me take it_.”

“Oh fine,” she sighs though she’s smiling faintly, “What do you make of the boy?”

“Arya has a good head on her shoulders,” he tells her softly, “I think if she trusts him then he’s alright.”

“I want you to speak with him anyways,” Sansa tells him thoughtfully, “Get an idea of his position in life. Perhaps we can use him here in Winterfell.”

“As you wish, my lady,” he tells her as he kisses her knuckles.

 

* * *

 

Gendry knew he was good at one thing, and it was the one thing he found himself most useful when he came to Winterfell. Swords needed mending and horses needed shoes. Their prior blacksmith had been killed in the siege and so they were in need of a new one. It was the best break he’d gotten in ages, ever since he was sent rowing across the sea to escape Dragonstone and that mad red haired witch. Her words haunted him, the very notion of his true identity made him angry.

“Boy,” a clearly dornish accent speaks from behind him.

He turns and immediately bows his head, averting his gaze in respect. “Your highness,” he says politely, “how can I help you?”

“I need this blade sharpened,” Oberyn says, setting his dagger on the wooden table before Gendry.

“Right away your highness,” he says and starts on the task, not wishing to make a Prince wait. This man was Lady Stark’s husband if he wasn’t mistaken, and Arya’s brother in law. Even more so he’s heard the stories, this man was Oberyn Martell, the red viper of Dorne. How on earth Arya’s sister ended up married to him he’ll never know.

Behind him Oberyn paces the room, examining pieces of his work, “You made all of these?”

“I did m’lord, yes,” Gendry replies as he works.

“How long have you been a blacksmith?” Oberyn asks.

“Since I was a boy m’lord,” he says, “I was an apprentice in Kings Landing.”

Before he had to uproot his entire life…before he was shipped off with the black brothers…before everything he knew was turned upside down by a highborn lady masquerading as a boy….

“And how old are you now?” Oberyn quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Six and twenty,” Gendry says tentatively.

Oberyn nods, “You’re a good strong boy,” he tells him, “we need a blacksmith and just looking at your work you’d do nicely. Would you like the job?”

“I would M’lord,” he says with mild shock. He took this job for free, it gave him something to do and kept his hands busy. It also kept his mind away from Arya, someone he thought he’d never see again. To be the blacksmith of Winterfell castle was a noble position, it meant more gold then he could spend and warm bed to sleep in every night. He’s been going from village to village, scavenging where he can and ducking the guards. Ever since he escaped Dragonstone he’s spent his time on the run but things have changed, he could tell by the way people started disappearing…

“Good,” Oberyn nods, “It’s settled then. When you’ve finished with that,” Oberyn says as he motions to his dagger, “Send it up with the servants.” Oberyn turns to go but stops, pulling a leather pouch from his belt and tossing it on the table behind him, “For your troubles.” Then he was gone, leaving Gendry standing there staring at the bag of gold and then at the retreating back of his new leis lord.

He might just like working here.

 

* * *

 

It was cold here, beneath the tree. Even deep in the underground tunnels among the children Bran Stark shivered from the cold. He huddles closer to the fire at the center of a stone ring, pressing between groups of people who were his kin even if distantly related as they were.  On his lap rests an old leather bound journal, older than anything he’s ever owned in his life. It was practically an heirloom as Leaf told him once, cautioning him against ruining it because it did not belong to him and was meant for someone else to read.  He had a right to it though he thinks as he reads, he had a right to _know_. It burns him with anger every time he thinks of it, he feels like his family and everyone involved are but paper puppets on strings, painted and pretty while Leaf makes them dance and move to the beat of a drum only she could hear. Leaf lied to them, lied to _him_.

_I was not lying…I simply omitted the truth until it was necessary for you to know…_

Tricks and lies, Bran thinks. That simple sentence put his teeth on edge, remembering what Leaf had told him.  Omitting the truth was still lying, but as Leaf had told him it was necessary and now he sees why.

He still doesn’t like it though.

“Careful with the pages,” Leaf’s voice is near his ear as she comes to sit with him by the fire. “It is very old and fragile, preserved by magic alone along with that which was kept in the box I brought you. Those are not for your eyes to read however.”

“This isn’t right,” Bran tells Leaf, “It isn’t fair to Sansa….”

“All of this was planned and prepared for long before any of you were born,” Leaf says quietly, “It has already happened.”

“No it hasn’t,” Bran frowns at Leaf, “Not for me at least.”

“No,” Leaf tells him, “Not for you…but for me it has.”

“We can still change it,” he argues.

“We cannot,” Leaf sighs, “It must always happen this way if we are to stop the people of the ice. This plan has been in the making for a long time now and we must not waste the opportunity we have been given.”

Bran stares down at the book in his hands and closes his eyes, seeing his sister, reaching out as far as he can but he never quite reaches her. The people of the ice are blocking him, their magic stunts his own. He isn’t as strong as the children are, his magic isn’t as powerful. He can’t quite reach her but Leaf can, and Leaf would have to continue to do so for him.

“I’ll help you Leaf,” Bran sighs, “but you know I don’t like it.”

“It cannot be avoided,” Leaf says as she stares into the flames of the fire, “This was planned hundreds of years ago and I am entrusted to carry it out. I will not fail…not when so much has been sacrificed to see it through.”

Bran nods but says nothing, sorrow weighs heavy on his heart. Was it wrong to aid Leaf in this? What would the consequences be? It was clear that this was the only way but if they succeeded…he would never see his sister again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So....I suppose everyone is thinking Aegon is a massive playboy at this point and he really is. He's by far the most frustrating for me to write because he's got this mask of charming polite noble when underneath he's a boy in so many ways, he really needs to grow up. He's the last of his line ( that can reproduce) because Dany is barren and Jon's taken the black again. Aegon's the only hope House Targaryen has at this point. He's going to be King soon too, which is really difficult without a queen...he's got some serious growing up to do. Hopefully Arianne will help him out with that :) We'll see where he is with all that later on. Now as for Gendry all I can say is...GENDRY'S NOT ROWING ANYMORE!!!!! Did anyone else get frustrated with Gendry still rowing through like three seasons? That poor guy must be exhausted.  
> Then we have Bran here...ominous words honestly but I swear it's not as bad as it sounds...it's bad...Ok so it's bad but not as bad as one might think it would be. I don't know how to explain that without spoiling the plot really.


	63. Chapter 63

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey folks, so here's the next chapter. I'm just starting to cut it into pieces for posting so let me know if it's too long or would you rather have shorter pieces. In this next chapter were going to see Jon with some of his good reasoning skills. Jon Snow, love doctor everyone. You know, in the books he wasn't particularly good at making good choices but the farther along he got the better he got. I think Jon really has a good head on his shoulders, I think he's pretty smart and observant about some things. Anyways, enjoy the chapter everyone!

Aegon is freezing. It’s downright _freezing_ on the Wall and he’d give almost anything for a drink of warm brandy or at the very least, a warm fire.  His half-brother on the other hand seems right at home on the Wall, solemn and sullen as he stands in the icy breeze with dark eyes gazing upon the horizon. He wasn’t even sure if Jon was right about that army or if his half-brother was just being paranoid. Stories differ among the twelve remaining men on the Wall. They tell him different stories about Jon, stories that involved him having wild hallucinations and others telling him he’s nothing but a coward and tried to run which is why everyone turned on him.

None ever dared to speak the truth.

It fired his blood to think that they would utter such foul things about his half-brother because he’s spent time with Jon over the years, he knows Jon better than that and he knows his brother would never shirk his duties unless he had a very good reason for it.

“You can’t stay here on the Wall with me forever,” Jon tells Aegon, rubbing his gloved hands together to shake off the numbness in his fingers, “The rest of Westeros is in danger as well.”

“I think it would be best if I stayed here for now,” Aegon tells him even if he doesn’t like being here per say, “I can take the Wall, Dany can take…”

“You now see the problem,” Jon points out with a half-smile.

“You need a dragon,” Aegon grouses as he steps past his brother, “Then I could help elsewhere.”

“I need more men is what I need,” Jon tells him, “Maybe if you write Dany and request more.”

“From where?” Aegon sighs, “Where would I find these men?”

“The dungeons of Kings Landing,” Jon suggests, “That’s what the Lannisters were doing before.”

Aegon nods, musing on the possibilities before he shifts the subject, watching his half-brother help the others haul barrels of tar and assorted flammable _anything_ they could find onto the edge of the Wall. The ultimate plan was the same he used at Winterfell except this time they’d have a much stronger wall to hide behind. Cover them in tar and set them aflame.

“Remember,” Jon reminds those still with him, “We’re going to need to keep the fire lit, they’ve got magic on their side and can put it out quickly. We’ve got to keep the fire coming so they can’t keep putting it out.”

“Dragon,” Aegon says aloud as if it were obvious, “now you have _me_.”

“Don’t show off,” Jon smirks at his brother before he looks at the others, “Everyone understand the plan?”

“This is mad,” Olly mutters in the background.

“It’s the best we can do,” Jon tells him, “I know you don’t want me here Olly but I’m the best chance you’ve got, I’m the best chance _any_ of you has right now. If we abandon the Wall now, those things will bring the rest of their armies beyond the gates and into Westeros and we’ll all be doomed…they’ll be no stopping them then.” Much to the grumbling and despair of his fellow watchers they obey and walk off. Jon watches them go, preparing for a fight they were certain they wouldn’t win. Jon felt otherwise, of course he knew this was crazy because there were twelve of them but all they had to do was protect one gate from being breached and those things _really_ didn’t like fire.

“Have you told Dany you plan to give up your crown?” Aegon says suddenly, shifting Jon’s thoughts about from the battle plans whirling in his mind.

“I’ve written to her already,” Jon says without meeting his gaze.

“And how did it go?”

“She hasn’t answered me yet,” Jon replies quietly, “I imagine she’ll be cross.”

“Jon,” Aegon says as he follows him farther down the top of the wall, away from the others. He drops his voice low as he continues, “Dany’s barren…she can’t bear children.”

Jon stops and looks at Aegon, “You’re certain of this?”

“Yes,” Aegon says quietly, “It’s why I haven’t wed her.”

“And I’ve taken up at the wall,” Jon ponders aloud, “it looks like you’ll be continuing the Targaryen line.”

“Your sister won’t have me,” he answers aloud, “and Sansa is married.”

“You liked Sansa once,” Jon says, “What happened?”

“She refused me,” he says honestly, “I did like her once and she turned me away. I suppose it just…faded after that. Or maybe…”

“Or maybe you were a boy and you were blinded by beauty and smiles.” Jon looks upon him with the look of a protective older brother as he continues, “Sansa’s a lot more than meets the eye and I think you realized that. Arya doesn’t want you and quite frankly the idea of a Targaryen and Stark being wed sounds disastrous.”

“How so?” Aegon quirks his brow, helping his half-brother lift a barrel onto the edge of the wall.

“Look what happened with your Father and Lyanna Stark,” he points out, “I thought you didn’t want to be like him.”

“I don’t,” Aegon frowns.

“Then walk away from Arya,” Jon presses, “Find someone else.”

“Six years,” Aegon says, “I spent six years around your family…Arya and I were good friends at one point.”

“Until you mucked it up with romance,” Jon tells him, “and you hurt my sister doing that you know. Sansa loved you…she didn’t realize it at first but she came to love you and you spurned her for her sister. Mind you…I don’t believe for a second Sansa _really_ loved you at all. I think it was a love born out of loneliness because Oberyn was busy in Dorne. I think now that he’s back she’ll forget you completely, Oberyn has a tendency to overrun her mind sometimes,” Jon says, grinning knowingly, “What she has with him is real love, the stuff that will last. What _you_ need is real love and you need to stop dallying with every pretty girl that turns your head and find one with good connections and a good head on her shoulders.”

“Your sister spurned me _first_ ,” Aegon points out, “and I know…your right about that I suppose,” he sighs, “I _am_ being a bit of an ass.”

 “Only because she was smart enough to see right through you,” Jon tells him, “and so is Arya.”

“I know,” Aegon admits quietly, reminiscing on days when they used to fly across Westeros on Rhaegal’s back, sharing adventures on High Heart and making deals with the likes of Petyr Baelish for the loyalty of the Vale. He and Sansa had great adventures together and also with Arya even if she did hate him most of the time. He never saw himself fancying a girl with such rough edges but he did, and now that he debates it perhaps his feelings are just boyhood dreams.

“You know what your problem is,” Jon tells him pointedly, “Is that you were young and fresh and pretty girls always turned your head. You never stopped to really know them and that’s where you went wrong with Arya…Sansa too.” Jon knew his half-brother was a bit of a dreamer deep down, just like his Father was. When they first met all those years ago Aegon was noble and kind and courageous, but Jon knows now that was just a mask, it was what he showed the world when he felt like everyone was looking at him. Underneath the real Aegon was different and the years have changed him. He’s a little more serious now, a little more sarcastic, a little more cynical. This was the Aegon he never showed anyone save for those he really knew, and now he felt comfortable enough with the Starks to drop the mask and just be himself. War changes people Jon thinks to himself, war makes you harder, war bleeds everything that you were and shaped you into someone else by the end of it all. Aegon used to laugh more, he used to play around more, now he was all sharp edges and deep thought.

“Then what do you suggest I do?” Aegon quirks an eyebrow at Jon.

“Find someone else,” Jon says firmly once more, “Stay away from my sister.”

“Cousin,” Aegon corrects him as he walks off, “She’s not _really_ your sister.”

“ _Stay-away-from-my-sister_ ,” Jon says slowly so as to be clear, “Find someone else. Find someone who makes you _better_ , who makes you _want_ to be better.”

 

* * *

 

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Sansa says worriedly to Dany, the early morning dawn stunted by grey clouds.

“Your husband can manage the North in your place while you’re gone,” Dany tells her, “I need you in Kings Landing, I have a task for you and I’ll need you in the small council. Be sure to bring an account of your armies that your banner’s have assembled.”

“As you wish,” Sansa says softly, “but…” she glances back worriedly, watching Oberyn talk with her bannermen before she sighs. His words ring soft in her mind before she nods, “I’ll ready my things.”

Inside the keep she makes for her bed chambers where she packs the warmest clothes she can find into a leather satchel. Her mind dances with the possibilities of what may happen in the future, she wasn’t even sure if those things would come back here or if they’ve moved on completely.

“Running away from home?” Oberyn quirks an eyebrow as he leans against the open door behind her.

“No,” Sansa smiles faintly, “I’m going with Dany back to Kings Landing. The banners have arrived and we’ll have enough food and fire to hold off any more attacks for now. Dany doesn’t think they’ll be back any time soon. She’s received letters from Tyrion informing her that they’ve been spotted heading towards the neck.”

“How long do we have?” Oberyn asks, concerned.

“A month or so, depending on how fast they travel,” Sansa tells him, “We can’t allow them to get beyond the neck. We should detain them here in the North and finish them off now, that way they can’t reach the rest of the realm.”

“They’ve already done so though,” Oberyn points out, “With the villages disappearing as far as Casterly Rock.”

“Scouting missions,” Sansa surmises, “Aegon thought that’s what they may have been doing, and what’s a scouting mission without help.”

“Not very tactful,” Oberyn muses aloud, “Though effective…they can pick up more for their army while they decide how battle ready we are...it’s almost like a _test_.”

“Then let us hope we do not fail it,” Sansa tells him before kissing him softly, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“The North will be here,” Oberyn says as he follows her down to the courtyard, “I’ll talk with the banners about preparing an offensive at the neck.”

“Good,” Sansa nods, “I’ll bring that up at the small council and we can go from there.”

Outside the morning is icy as she approaches Drogon. Dany sits astride his back, reigns in one hand as she looks at Sansa. “Be careful,” she cautions Sansa, “He’s not Rhaegal and he’s a bit more temperamental.”

As Sansa reaches out to slide her hand soothingly along Drogon’s scales his massive head swings around to blink at her, hot breath bursting against her face and hair. She stands perfectly still, trying as best she can to sooth the fear racing through her heart.

“He can smell fear,” Dany warns, “Fear equals food…don’t be afraid…just climb on and let’s go. Don’t think about it Sansa, just do it.”

Abruptly she swings into action and hauls herself onto Drogon’s back behind Dany, tightening the satchel she carries over her shoulder more securely. Drogon blinks at her and then turns his massive head away, shaking the snow from his scales. He was so much bigger than Rhaegal, the biggest of the three in fact.

“Be careful,” Oberyn calls from his place near the great hall doors as he and the other banners watch their Lady depart with the Queen. As Drogon’s massive wings take flight it kicks snow and ice into the air much to the annoyance of those trying to clear out the courtyard, while it presses the icy cold into both Dany and Sansa’s faces.

Pulling her fur lined cloak tighter around her Sansa burrows into it and clings to Drogon’s scales as they soar higher and higher into the air towards Kings Landing.

“He doesn’t like the cold,” Dany muses allowed as they go.

“I don’t think anyone does honestly,” Sansa murmurs back, her voice muffled within her cloak. She honestly didn’t mind the cold but being on the back of a dragon in the dead of winter was absolutely _miserable_. However, it’s been a long time since she rode a dragon, and being up here again was lovely. She has vague memories of Aegon trying to teach her to fly once, but those are memories that she lost because of his Father, memories that it took years for her to get back. She supposes that it screwed with her mind a little, she wonders sometimes which memories are real and which are imagined. She hopes none of them are imagined honestly and she occasionally will ask Oberyn if something she remembers really happened or not just so she can be certain.

She wants to remember this though, she wants to remember the wind in her face and the view before them. She wants to remember the euphoria you get when you ride on the back of a dragon, it was the best kind of freedom there was.

 

* * *

 

It’s well after nightfall when they reach Kings Landing. All Sansa wants now is a warm bath and a good night’s sleep. What she gets however when reaching the guest chambers within the royal half of the palace is a horribly sick Ellaria.

“You’re ill,” Sansa says worriedly as she sets down her bag, “How long has this been going on then?” Quickly she hurries to Ellaria’s bedside to help her sit up.

“Since Oberyn left for Winterfell,” Ellaria admits quietly, “I’ve just been dizzy and a bit sick is all,” she smiles reassuringly at Sansa, “Nothing to worry about.”

“I’ll send for the maester,” Sansa tells her softly.

“No,” Ellaria waves her off, “I’ve already seen the maester.”

“And?” Sansa quirks an eyebrow.

“Waiting for the results,” Ellaria smiles faintly, “I’m sure it’s just a cold.”

Guilt makes Sansa fall silent. Oberyn agreed to live in Winterfell with her and Ellaria is horribly sick. Perhaps the cold wouldn’t suit her? Perhaps it would be her fault if Ellaria broke it off with Oberyn? Ellaria wouldn’t do that though would she? Ellaria loves Oberyn, she’d follow him anywhere.

“I suppose,” Sansa says softly, “Never mind.” Sansa trails off, thinking better of it.

“No,” Ellaria smiles as her warm hands catch Sansa’s “what is it?”

“Nothing to worry about now,” Sansa reassures her, “I just want you to rest and get well.”

“You are hiding something from me,” Ellaria says knowingly, “I can feel it.”

“Nothing serious,” Sansa tells her, “Let’s talk of it in the morning after the small council meeting.”

“It’s that bad is it?” Ellaria asks her softly though she was smiling, “Alright.”

Sansa sits with Ellaria until she sleeps and then readies herself for bed as well. Another thing to factor in were Ellaria’s children. Winterfell would be lovely with the sound of laughter again, of children playing in the halls. Ellaria’s youngest would probably come with them to Winterfell, but how would her bannermen react to that? How would they feel about their wardenness’s husband carting around a paramour and several of her children?

It simply wasn’t done in the North, and they would think her disrespected. Already they struggle with the weight of being governed by a Dornish Prince in their lady’s absence. Regardless of how well Oberyn can manage them (and he was rather good at it) it still left in question what the bannermen made of their lady and her choices. Would they think her weak or merely uncultured? Most Northern men would see it as an insult that he would bring his paramour and natural born children to live in Winterfell with her. Sansa loved Ellaria though, she wouldn’t turn them away or make Oberyn give them up, that would be wrong.

Why couldn’t her life be simpler?

One husband, no paramours or children trailing along behind him. It was what she dreamed of as a girl and though she loves Oberyn and Ellaria more than anything, sometimes it was frustrating for her. Ellaria could see it too sometimes she thinks. There were moments when Ellaria thought she wasn’t looking, moments when Ellaria looked immeasurably sad. A sorrow Sansa recognized as heartbreak, the loss of a loved one. Ellaria may very well fear deep down that she was losing Oberyn to Sansa, but when they first met Ellaria made it very clear she would not give Oberyn up without a fight.

Sighing heavily, she lies back against the pillows and tries very hard not to think about any of it anymore. Ellaria stirs in her sleep but does not wake, and as Sansa glances at Ellaria she wishes quietly to herself that things could be simpler for them all.  Was she the interloper to Ellaria’s happily ever after? Did she herself even believe in things like that anymore? She was twenty-six now and a woman grown. Romantic poems and songs were no longer a dream she carried in her heart, life had been too hard and too cold for her to hold onto it.

Plus, Rhaegar really just ruined it for her.

“Sleep my love,” Ellaria murmurs groggily, her dark eyes blinking at Sansa. She hadn’t even realized Ellaria was awake and quietly she feared Ellaria might see the sorrow on her face.

“I’m just going over what needs to be done for tomorrow,” Sansa tells her softly, “Oberyn’s moving the bannermen towards the neck to close it off. We’ve got to build a wall of some kind and keep those things in the North.”

“Think on it tomorrow,” Ellaria tells her softly, “Fret tomorrow…you’re exhausted.”

“I am,” Sansa agrees and closes her eyes. She’s asleep before she even realizes what’s happening, and the worries of the day slip away from her mind like sand through her fingers.

 

* * *

 

The small council meets in the war room shortly after ten in the morning, just enough time for Sansa to wake up and dress and at a little breakfast. Ellaria sleeps in, the very mention of food makes her feel ill. So after breakfast she meets with the others and they gather around a large oak table and discuss the issue at hand.

“I want all the bannermen ready,” Dany tells the council as she explains the map laid out before them, “I think it would be best if we closed off the neck and stationed an army of men there, closing off all access to any crossing. Then we’ll have a secondary line of defense at the Twins, shielding the bridge.”

“Bloody bastard’s will have to swim if they want to get to the realm,” muses one of the Lords from Highgarden.

“Blackwater’s to strong,” says another, “They’d never make it across. Even in these frozen temperatures the water moves to fast to freeze over just yet.”

“These creatures my lord,” Sansa adds in, “are dead…they do not feel nor eat nor think. They are but puppets to the white walkers, I hardly think cold water is going to deter them.”

“Rotting puppets my lady,” he counters easily, “dead and rotting…they’ll have a hell of a time staying in one piece trying to cross the Blackwater.”

“As I was saying,” Dany says as she steers the topic back to the map, “Prince Aegon will be stationed with Rhaegal at the neck and I’ll be waiting at the Twins with Drogon. My lords I cannot stress to you how direly important it is that we do not allow even one of these creatures to cross past the Twins. The Wall has written as well…they’re in dire need of reinforcements so any criminals you might have within your holds must be sent to the Wall to defend it. I don’t just mean the Nightfort either,” Dany tells them, “I mean every fort. From one end of the Wall to the other I want it armed and ready for battle.”

“We haven’t enough to send to the Wall and then to the Twins or the Neck as well,” one argues, “Where will be get these men?”

“I want every able bodied man if not at the Neck or the Twins on the Wall. I will not hold them there if they do not want to take the Black but they will be required to stay until their job is done. The Lord Commander tells me that there are more coming and they haven’t gotten beyond the Wall. If they do…my lords, we will not be able to stand against them, we will be overrun.”

“Then we need a dragon on the Wall as well,” one points out.

“I’m sending one with Lady Stark,” Dany nods towards Sansa, “She’ll be taking Viserion to Prince Jon.”

Sansa struggles to keep the surprise off her face as she meets Dany’s gaze. Sansa’s never flown alone before, and she scarcely knows the basics of it. Taking Viserion on her own would be madness. However, she doesn’t show any flicker of fear as the others look at her, if she did that people might question Dany’s judgement of the matter. 

“He’s not really a prince anymore though is he?” A quiet voice near the back speaks. “If he’s taken the black again that is.”

“Lord Mormont,” Dany smiles softly, “I’m happy to see you out of bed at last.”

“I knew you would need the help,” Jorah Mormont smiles at her faintly.

“And I am grateful for it truly,” Dany tells him before looking at the others in the council room, “I want missives from all of you in regards to the numbers you can round up. We march immediately, we haven’t any time to waste.”

* * *

 

When the council breaks Sansa walks with Tyrion from the council room towards the library. Behind her she spies Dany stopping to talk with Jorah Mormont and can’t help but smile to herself. It was good to see her find love somewhere, she needed it in her life.

“You remind me of a young Stark girl who once saw a dornish prince and very nearly climbed over the table at a wedding party to meet him,” Tyrion comments idly, a half-smile on his face as he watches her.

“I just like seeing Dany happy,” Sansa says softly.

“He’s dying you know,” Tyrion tells her quietly as they walk, “Greyscale.”

Sansa is silent and pensive at these words. The idea of it made her heart ache for Dany. Instead she changes the topic, “I believe you wanted to see me after the council? I promised Ellaria I’d lunch with her afterwards.”

“It won’t take long,” Tyrion tells her as she follows him into the library. “I understand you have a dragon now. I found a book penned by some of the elder dragon lords from the Targaryen line. It could have some useful suggestions on raising him.”

“Does _everyone_ in the Kingdom know _everything_ about my personal life?” Sansa asks rhetorically though Tyrion smiles at her words.

“You are the wardenness of the North and the Princess of Dorne,” he points out, “Your life will never be private again.”

“A book though?” Sansa asks, “On dragon taming?”

“That too,” Tyrion says, “it’s old and messy though, written in high valerian. I hope you’ve been practicing.”

“I think I’m skilled enough,” Sansa smiles faintly.

Inside the library Tyrion has old trunks pulled free from the mountain of junk brought up from the lower halls. Sansa prods at some of it, picking up an old leather bound journal with odd scribbling inside of it. “What’s this?” she asks as she leafs through it, “It’s rather old isn’t it?”

“Older than anything in this room,” Tyrion tells her, “That journal belonged to Rhaenys Targaryen.”

“Oh,” Sansa blinks down at it, “It’s a horrid mess in here,” she says as she leafs through it, “Written quickly…”

“Yes,” Tyrion agrees, “I think it’s a dream journal. It makes little sense though,” he sighs, “and bits of it are burnt from the fire in the Summer palace.” Tyrion pauses and then pulls a heavy leather bound tome out from under a pile of other books and papers, “ah, here it is.”

Flipping through the pages she listens to Tyrion hum as he sets down at his desk, digging through odds and ends of old family heirlooms and books. “You know I found a genealogy book in here too somewhere,” he adds, “and I was wondering about something that maybe you could answer.”

“Like what?” Sansa quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Do you remember the day Rhaegar Targaryen made off with that dragon, Rhaegal?” He asks, watching Sansa curiously.

“Yes,” Sansa frowns at him, “How could I forget it?”

“I mean no offense,” Tyrion tells her, “I just…I had a thought…a curious one really.”

“Like?” Sansa asks him expectantly.

“How did Rhaegar do that? He shouldn’t have been able to…warg magic comes from the children of the forest and your family has that bloodline but not the Targaryens.”

“He was in Jon’s body at the time,” Sansa points out, “He probably used Jon’s blood to do it.”

“That may be,” Tyrion says thoughtfully, “but magic…it’s part of the soul. Everything I’ve ever read about magic and dragons and sorcery, magic resides within the soul of a person and not in their blood per say. So my question to you is, are the Targaryens in any way related to the Starks? Do they share a bloodline?”

“Not that I know of,” Sansa frowns, the wheels in her mind spinning, “I don’t understand how he could have done it…he shouldn’t have been able to…”

“Exactly,” Tyrion points out, “He shouldn’t have but he _did_ , which leads me to wonder about his parentage.”

“You’re not suggesting that Rhaegar is a…a…natural born is he?” Sansa blinks at Tyrion, “That can’t be.”

“No,” Tyrion muses, “I doubt he is…I mean it’s a possibility but as I recall old King Aerys was a madman and highly paranoid. Queen Rhaelle would have never gotten away with a betrayal like that.”

“But it would explain his sudden whim to burn my grandsire and uncle alive,” Sansa suggests thoughtfully.

“Your grandsire could have lay with Queen Rhaelle and your Uncle kept the secret…” Tyrion nods, “It’s a good theory but somehow I can’t see your grandsire doing that. You Starks are a rigid people; you hold to your morals.”

“So if my grandsire lay with Queen Rhaelle and she bore Rhaegar out of wedlock…” Sansa says, the implications clicking into place one by one, “And if Rhaegar knew that Lyanna was truly his half-sister…”

“Which tradition was it that Targaryens live by?” Tyrion grins at her knowingly as if between the two of them they’d solved some great mystery.

“They wed brother to sister,” Sansa breaths in awe, “What if he knew and married Lyanna because she was his half-sister. That would complete the last head of the dragon!”

“Well,” Tyrion says as he taps his chin, “it’s just a theory…a good one mind you, but a theory.”

“So how did he do it?” Sansa asks, suddenly intrigued, “I don’t get it…if he’s not a Stark…”

“Let me dig some more,” Tyrion tells her, “I’ll figure it out eventually I’m sure.”


	64. Chapter 64

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

“I can’t do this Dany,” Sansa says nervously, watching Viserion watching her.

“Of course you can,” Dany tells her, “The way I learned to ride Drogon was far different from both you and Aegon. I learned by climbing onto his back and hanging on essentially,” Dany smiles at the worried look on Sansa’s face, “and you’ll learn to do the same.”

“He’s got no saddle,” Sansa points out.

“You won’t need one and neither will Jon,” Dany tells her pointedly.

“I thought a saddle was needed?” Sansa asks softly.

“Not just yet,” she smiles, “That’ll come later when you’ve mastered the basics.”

Stepping closer she slides her fingers along Viserion’s neck, over the warm pale scales. He stirs and grumbles and Sansa hushes him softly, settling him as best she can. It was similar to what she did with Blackfyre when he was unsettled and it worked just the same with Viserion.

“Back in the old days,” Dany tells her, “My brother used to tell me stories about how we never used saddles…we rode bareback and sat upon their shoulders. It wasn’t until Aegon the Conqueror that we had to change, that we needed reigns and saddles and armor. I want to change that.”

“You do realize that they’ll need armor in the war?” Sansa says softly, “They’ll be unprotected otherwise.”

“I do,” Dany nods, “and they’ll have it…and saddles and reigns but I want you so comfortable with riding on the back of a dragon you don’t need any of it. If something were to happen one day I don’t want you to have to rely on those things to fly.”

Sansa nods, “That makes sense,” she replies softly, “I suppose it would be good for me to know that.”

“It would,” Dany agrees, “One day Blackfyre will be big enough to ride.”

“Spend time with him,” Dany tells her, “let him get to know you and then when you’re ready, take him and fly with him for a while.”

 

* * *

 

After her meeting with Dany, Sansa was running late far more then she’d meant too. She meets Ellaria inside their private chambers, the other woman waiting at the table as the food was being served.

“I thought you’d forgotten,” Ellaria smiles playfully at Sansa.

“No,” Sansa tells her, “I’m sorry…Tyrion needed me…and then Dany…I just lost track of time is all.”

“So,” Ellaria looks at her knowingly, “You promised to tell me, so tell me.”

“I never promised,” Sansa murmurs quietly as she fills her plate, “but…it’s really just some news is all.”

“What sort of news?” Ellaria asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“I need help,” Sansa sighs softly as she looks at Ellaria, “In the North…if I’m going to keep the title then I need Oberyn with me in Winterfell…permanently.”

Ellaria is quiet as she regards Sansa, leaning back in her chair to look at the other woman. It is the first time since she met Ellaria that the woman intimidated her. “And what of myself and our children?”

Sansa meets her gaze before answering, “I would want you there with us of course.”

“That’s good,” Ellaria says as she takes a bite of her lunch, “because you know I would not let him go.”

“I wouldn’t expect that,” Sansa says suddenly unnerved by Ellaria’s tense demeanor. It was as if Ellaria was afraid of the same thing she was, both of them loved him and neither would ever let him go without a fight.

Ellaria seems to sense her distress and curses under her breath before saying in a much softer tone, “You were scared I’d be angry.”

“I was,” Sansa admits softly, “I know you love Dorne….and I just…”

“I understand,” Ellaria says softly.

“No you don’t,” Sansa says as she stands, frustrated and tired. Scrubbing tears from her eyes she stalks off to her bed chambers.

“Why this guilt Sansa?” Ellaria is hot on her heels, just as frustrated but also confused, “Why are you suddenly so thrown by our agreement?”

“I feel like I’m robbing you of something,” Sansa stops so suddenly that Ellaria nearly walks into her, “I feel like I’m stealing away _your_ happy ending, like he was yours before he was mine and I just….I can’t help but feel _horrible_ about it.”

“My love,” Ellaria says softly, catching Sansa’s chin so she’ll look at her, “We went over this years ago when you and I first met. He is _ours_ …not yours or mine but _ours_. He is _our_ happy ending.”

Sansa pulls away, her shoulders tense as she ponders Ellaria’s words, “I made this decision without you.”

“It was necessary,” Ellaria says, “You didn’t have a choice.”

“I was afraid you would hate me,” she says even softer, “for making him stay…or you’ll come to hate me…because you’ll be stuck in Winterfell with us, away from Dorne…away from everything you know and love.”

“My place,” Ellaria says, “Is not in Dorne but at Oberyn’s side. I go where he goes, and so do you. If Oberyn’s need is in Winterfell, then I’ll be there with him to support him as you will.”

Sansa nods as the two women embrace, Ellaria kissing her forehead, “I know you’ve been under a lot of stress lately.”

“I’m either scared or tired,” Sansa says softly, “all the time…all I want is the both of you with me. I miss you.”

“Then we shall be there,” Ellaria reassures her softly, “Now….” She frowns, “If you’ll excuse me.”

Sansa blinks as the other woman steps past her and into the bath chambers. “Ellaria?” Sansa says softly, curiously.

“I’m fine,” she calls, “I just…I just felt dizzy for a moment is all.”

“What did the Maester say?” Sansa asks softly.

“He hasn’t told me anything yet,” Ellaria answers.

Worriedly Sansa watches after Ellaria, concerned for her health. What if Ellaria was sick? What happens then? Ellaria’s health has always been strong, her falling ill like this was odd.  Only time will tell though, Sansa thinks to herself, hopefully it was just a common cold and nothing too serious.

 

* * *

 

Far to the North on the Wall Jon Snow watches. He takes the night shift because nobody else will and frankly he doesn’t really mind. It gives him time to think and to ponder all that’s happened over the last few months.  He’s been the Warden of the North, a prince, and now he was a crow again. It was of his own volition this time, but something tells him those who follow him now will turn on him again eventually. Olly for one doesn’t want him there, and eventually Jon knows somebody else will have to take up the mantel of Lord Commander.

It would just be the best thing for everyone right now really.

It wasn’t that he was backing down from a fight, it was that he understood their uneasiness. He broke the laws of the black brothers, he abandoned his post, he ran off with wildlings, he did many things that went against everything they stood for and yet he did them to protect his brothers, not hurt them. Then there was Ser Alliser Thorne. The fate of that particular mutineer was uncertain, he had no idea what had become of him and Olly wasn’t telling either.

“Switch the guard,” says one of the newest recruits as he approaches Jon, “Lord Commander?”

“Yes,” Jon nods, “Switch.”

He steps aside and lets the young boy take over while he turns and heads down the wall, rubbing his hands together to keep warm. The snow drifts down in sprinkles from an inky dark sky above and Jon sighs, his breath warm and visible in the cold air. Somewhere in the distance he hears barking and frowns at the noise, turning towards the south, towards Westeros. Leaning over the wall he can just barely make it out, a hollow sound like a wolf howling in the night.

“Wolves,” the young boy nearby says, “Bloody things make such a racket at night.”

“No,” Jon frowns, “That’s too big to be a wolf,” he tells the boy as he wrinkles his brow together, peering into the darkness below.

“Who goes down there!?” Shouts the boy without preamble and Jon shoots him a look before peering into the thick dark forest below.

“I doubt they’ll hear you from up here,” Jon says as he starts towards the elevator. Flipping the lever, he descends down towards the Nightfort, the sound of howling still ringing in the air.  At the bottom of the lift he steps out and walks out into the courtyard towards the front gates. Two guards step aside for him and pull the gates open for him.

“Lord Commander?” One questions quietly.

“Hold fast,” he murmurs to them and steps out beyond the gates. He lets loose a whistle, a sudden thought swirling in his mind, “Ghost?” he calls, “Ghost!”

What emerges from the darkness isn’t the direwolf he was expecting. He finds himself knocked on his back within moments and the guards behind him yelling out in warning as they charge forward, swords drawn.

“Hold!” Jon shouts, “HOLD!” He holds his arm out to stop the guards progression as he looks up into the eyes of the direwolf, “Shaggy Dog?” He breathes in shock and awe, sliding his other hand through the thick fur of Shaggy dog's coat.

“Shaggy Dog!” shouts a familiar voice, a voice Jon believed to be long dead. He sits up as the direwolf bounds off him and retreats, watching it run towards a boy who couldn’t be more then fourteen and beside him a wildling woman.

“Rickon?” he breathes in shock, staring at the boy who stands not a few feet from him. “RICKON!” He shouts and jumps to his feet.

“JON!” the boy shouts happily and runs towards him.

Jon embraces him happily, fluffing the boys hair, “I thought you were dead, where have you been?” Jon says with a happy smile on his face, joy was flooding his veins, shaking the numb cold from his body, “Everyone thought you were dead Rickon, where have you _been_?”

“I was with Osha,” Rickon explains as he glances back at the wildling woman, “she took care of me.”

“Thank you,” Jon says as he looks at Osha, “Really…come, both of you. Let’s get inside…Sansa’s going to be thrilled to see you both.”

“Sansa’s alright?” Rickon asks as he follows Jon hand in hand into the Nightfort.

“Sansa’s alright,” Jon smiles down at him with a nod, “and so are you…and Bran, but he lives beyond the Wall now.”

“He went to go live with the children!” Rickon tells him adamantly as they step into the warmth of the keep.

“Did he now?” Jon says as he motions for someone to bring the younger boy some food.

“Yes,” Rickon nods, “and the Reed siblings went with him.”

“I see,” Jon nods, wondering now if he should be writing to Holland Reed to inform him on the whereabouts of his children.

As he watches Rickon eat with the Wildling woman and Shaggy Dog in tow, Jon can’t help but wonder about the many surprises he’s gotten over the years. Rickon by far was the best. He would need to write to Sansa immediately, she’ll be wanting to see him as soon as possible.

 


	65. Chapter 65

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

A month passes in the Red Keep like sand through an hour glass and Sansa, slowly but surely becomes more confident with Viserion. She hasn’t taken him out into the cold air just yet, but instead she sits with him in the dragon pits and smooths a soft brush over his scales to shake the dust and dirt free each day. Viserion was much like a horse Sansa thinks, though bigger and far more dangerous.

He also breaths fire.

Which became something of a bother for Sansa, who learned very quickly to mind his snout and teeth. The heat that radiated off of him was threatening, and more than once Sansa very nearly ended up with singed hair because she was standing to close whenever he got into one of his moods. Today however he was relatively calm as she brushed the dirt from his scales.

“Your happy today,” Sansa comments idly to him, “and your scales are looking lovely too.”

The pale white dragon turns his head to look at her, a large amber colored eye blinking curiously in her direction as she talks to him.  In the pen beside his she can hear Drogon, he was unsettled and restless but then again he always was. There were a few times she was frightened by him, but Dany had taught her that fear was equal to food just like how wolves viewed anything that ran away from them as prey. The last thing she ought to do with Drogon or any dragon was run away or be scared.

Granted, it was really hard to swallow that fear down sometimes.

“I wonder what the brother you were named after was like,” Sansa muses aloud, “Dany told me he was mean, but I think he was just sad. He was sad and he was mean to everyone because of it. You’re not mean or sad though are you?” Sansa tells him, sliding her fingers along the short horns and scales just beneath his eye. “You’re a handsome dragon aren’t you?”

“Stop flirting and go flying already,” Dany’s voice drifts from beyond the bars of the stall Viserion was in. Sansa spies a lock of silver hair drift past as Dany goes to tend to Drogon.

“How’s the battle plan coming?” Sansa calls softly as she finishes brushing out Viserion’s scales.

“Rubbish,” Dany answers with a sigh, “The banners are setting up at the neck and the twins. I’m going to need Aegon at the neck by the way, which means you need to take Viserion out to Jon soon.”

“I don’t want to leave Ellaria alone here,” Sansa frowns, “I’m worried about her health. She’s been so secretive lately.”

“Then take her with you,” Dany suggests.

“She refuses to ride on a dragon,” Sansa laughs a little, “I offered to take her to Winterfell when I take Viserion to Jon and she said she’d rather _walk_ to Winterfell.”

“She’s been ill the maester tells me,” Dany comments lightly though Sansa thinks she’s prying for information. Nothing seems to go on in this kingdom without Dany knowing about it.

“Just a bit sick is all,” Sansa tells her softly, “I’m sure she’s just not used to the weather here.”

“I hope she gets well soon,” Dany tells her, “I’ll send the royal maester to tend to her.”

“That would be kind,” Sansa tells her, “Thank you.”

Viserion is watching her thoughtfully and she rolls her eyes and makes a face at him, she knows that _something_ is going on with Ellaria but she’s certain it’s not just a cold. “Oh why not,” Sansa murmurs after a moments pause and then opens the gate, leading Viserion out. “Come on you,” Sansa tells him, “Let’s get some fresh air.”

 

* * *

 

“There once was a dornishmen named Oberyn,” Arya says sourly as she watches her brother in law stride around the keep, ordering people to and fro. “Who discovered his bossy other half and found himself a changed man.”

“That sounds like a terrible beginning to a story,” Gendry comments idly from his seat down the table from her.

“My lord good brother finds himself regent while Sansa is away,” Arya tells him, “and he’s actually rather good at it. He’s doing an excellent rendition of _Sansa_ right now too.”

Gendry smiles knowingly, “Worked out you aren’t as innocent as you seem has he?”

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” Arya says frankly, “He recognizes that I’m formidable and capable and responsible.”

“Right,” Gendry grins as his eyes drift over the crowd, ice blue eyes meeting the gaze of a pretty dark haired girl across the room.

“Ew,” Arya says as she elbows him, “That’s Bersa the girl who slops out the horse stables every morning and I can guarantee you she’s been around the village a few times.”

“So?” Gendry tells her, “I’ve been around the village a few times meself.”

“Didn’t need to know that,” Arya makes a face as she loses all appetite.

They watch as the girl stands and starts towards them. Gendry seems to straighten up, flashing his best smile as she comes closer….and then walks right past him to greet the boy one table over behind him. Arya can’t help but laugh at the look on Gendry’s face, Gendry flushes pink and stares at his plate and eventually the mirth in her dies down a little before she says, “That was well worth it.”

“Shut it,” Gendry mutters as he wipes a bit of dirt from his cheek.

“Your all dirty for one thing,” Arya points out, “Girl’s don’t like the dirt much.”

“Not the good ones at least,” Gendry says quietly, “Some girls like the dirt though.”

Arya quirks an eyebrow at him, mulling over his words. What exactly was he implying? Being that she had never really bothered with men before, save for Aegon but he was the one doing most of the bothering, Arya never really felt that attraction to _anyone_. Then there’s Gendry though, his ice blue eyes catching her attention, it was an odd feeling that she couldn’t quite describe. It wasn’t that she was attracted to him per say, but she _noticed_ him. At twenty and three, Arya found herself still very much a maiden. She never felt inclined to share her body with anyone before because there was so much more out there in the world to do. She was a trueborn lady of the Stark line that was for certain, but it wasn’t like the mantel of power would ever be passed on to her. Arya was free to do as she pleased, if a time ever came that she felt inclined to give herself to someone.

“I have something for you by the way,” Gendry says, breaking the silence between them.

“Like what?” Arya asks, turning to look at him.

“Your sword,” he tells her, “I think your good brother nicked it from you and brought it to me. Asked me to sharpen it up a bit.”

“So _that’s_ where needle went!” Arya says accusingly though it wasn’t directed at Gendry, “I’ve been looking everywhere!”

“You need a bigger sword,” Gendry says, “You’re not a little girl anymore.”

“Need fits me well,” Arya sniffs, “and it was a gift…from my brother.”

“And it was a good one when you were younger but you’re not anymore,” Gendry says, “you should think on commissioning a new one.”

“And what?” Arya says skeptically, “Am I to ask our new blacksmith to do the job then?”

“If you like,” Gendry says quickly and Arya blinks at him, “I wouldn’t mind. I could make you something formidable at least.”

“Needle is formidable,” Arya argues pointedly.

“Yeah,” Gendry says, “for sparring in the yard but not for defensive purposes.”

Arya chews her food and ponders his words before she finishes her dinner, “Prove it.”

“Alright,” Gendry glances back and up at her, “I will. Just you wait _M’lady_ ,” he tells her, “Just you wait.”

 

* * *

 

She leans her weight to the left and then to the right, easing through the twists and turns. This was how the dragon lords of old did it, how they flew on the backs of dragons without saddles or reigns. Dany was right about that; it _was_ good to know how to do this. Viserion seems happy enough too as Sansa whirls above cliff sides and down low across valleys and streams. She tries to stay close the sea though, as far from the point of battle as possible. The Neck and the Twins were being prepared for war and Sansa was instructed to stay away from them.

“Easy,” Sansa coos to Viserion softly as they whip through the turns a little too sharply. He tends to pull against her control sometimes, especially when he sees something interesting down below.

Like sheep for example.

She found it a struggle to keep him focused at times especially when he sees something that resembles food. So she tries to steer him away, easing towards the coastline until she could see the sun dipping low over the summer set sea. They’ve been out flying for hours and Sansa realizes she never wants to stop. The wind in her face, the fresh air…it was freedom in the purest sense. There wasn’t a word to describe the euphoria, it washed away all stress and sorrow and worry of the past few months.

When the darkness of nightfall came Sansa returned to the dragon pits, the icy wind in her hair and a smile on her flushed face. Viserion was no doubt as exhausted as she was. They’d landed a few times during the day just so Sansa could get the feeling back in her cheeks from where the icy wind kept billowing against her face. Viserion on the other hand either had his snout in a river stream or he was snapping at farm animals, (something Sansa tried to prevent on numerous occasions and occasionally she managed it.) Once Viserion was put back in his stall she went into the Red Keep, her hair was a mess and smile was genuine even if people did stare as she passed by.

“Sweet Seven,” Tyrion says as he spots her down the hall, “What happened to _you_?”

“Oh,” Sansa tells him as she quickly runs her fingers through her hair. It was the first time in her life Sansa found that she didn’t care if her hair was a mess or her clothes were wrinkled. “Nothing…I just took Viserion out for a ride is all.”

“I see,” Tyrion says, “We’ll you may want to take up the Targaryen tradition of braiding your hair when riding a dragon,” Tyrion tells her, “Otherwise you’ll spend all your time untangling it when you return.”

Sansa smiles and nods as they walk together, her mind going over the packing she did this morning, the upheaval of all her clothes and jewelry and other things that she sorted through, “I have something for you by the way, I forgot I even had it.”

They approach Sansa’s chambers and she goes inside, rummaging through her jewelry box. Ellaria notices her from her place sprawled across their bed. “What are you looking for my love?”

“That ring,” Sansa says, “the one with the red ruby in it. I found it in the older parts of the Water Gardens.”

“The one made of valerian steel?” Ellaria quirks an eyebrow, “I organized by design while you were gone,” she tells her, “top left drawer.”

Popping open the top left drawer Sansa sorts through assortment of rings until she finds the one she’s looking for, “Thanks!” Sansa says as she drops a kiss on Ellaria’s cheek and then hurries out the door.

Outside Tyrion waits as Sansa hands over the ring and he examines it. “Where did you get this?” He asks, eyeing it curiously.

“In the older unused rooms of the Water Gardens,” Sansa explains, “I’d forgotten I’d even had it.”

“Fascinating,” he says as he looks it over, “Valerian steel I’m assuming,” he says, “How odd.”

Sansa nods, “Isn’t it though? I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“The engravings are worn off,” Tyrion says more to himself then her, “It must be very old.”

“I would think so,” Sansa says softly, “I meant to take it to Doran and completely forgot. Maybe you could figure out where it came from?” Sansa asks with a quirked eyebrow, “I know you like your research.”

“If I see anything in that monumental mountain of junk back in the library I’ll let you know,” Tyrion says with a half-smile as he turns and walks off with the ring in hand, looking it over.

* * *

 

Inside her bed chambers, Ellaria is dozing half between asleep and awake. Her eyes pop open when Sansa enters and she sits up, some of the color returning to her face as she sees Sansa. Sansa’s been waiting to do this, but she can’t ever seem to find the right time to corner Ellaria. She has a basic idea of what might be going on with Ellaria but she seriously doubted she was right. Ellaria’s been so sick off and on lately it was making Sansa nervous, it was time to have the truth of it.

“I’m starting to think your keep secrets,” Sansa says softly, “I’ve noticed you’ve been sick a lot less lately.”

“Oh?” Ellaria quirks an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Sansa continues on, “You know riding a dragon really does clear your mind…all that cold wind and all,” Sansa tells her and then rounds on her, hands on her hips as she looks at Ellaria, “How could you not tell me you were pregnant?”

“ _Don’t_ tell Oberyn!” Ellaria says so quickly Sansa blinks and stares.

“But…you…” Sansa blinks at her some more, “You really _are_ pregnant?”

“Yes,” Ellaria admits softly as she slides a hand over her stomach.

“But when did you two have time…” Sansa trials off and then looks at her wryly, “You told me you scolded him and sent him packing.”

“I might have given him a farewell party in the bath the next morning…” Ellaria murmurs quietly.

Sansa smiles, “I know…I can’t help myself either.”

“Don’t tell him,” Ellaria presses, “I know how you are and I know you don’t like to keep secrets from him, but I don’t want you to tell him. I want it to be a surprise.”

“Why all the secrecy?” Sansa quirks an eyebrow.

“Because I think it’s a boy,” Ellaria grins excitedly, “I think I’m going to have a boy. The baby is riding differently than all the other times I’ve been pregnant.”

Sansa sits and processes it all, the idea of Ellaria having a boy puts a smile on Sansa’s face, “Oberyn will be beside himself,” Sansa tells her softly, “a _son_.”

“I know,” Ellaria grins at her, “I’m _so_ excited! For _years_ I’ve been trying to give him a son and I truly hope this time I will.”

Sansa grins at her, embracing her friend with joy in her heart. They go to bed that night with happy smiles and giggle about the idea of a little boy with Oberyn’s eyes and Ellaria’s smile. There was a tiny voice though in the back of Sansa’s mind, a quiet noise that whispered her own longing for a son by her beloved.  She smothers these longings though and focuses on Ellaria, losing herself in the other woman’s joy.


	66. Chapter 66

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

The day Sansa departs from Kings Landing her heart is heavy with worry. Ellaria is determined to go to Winterfell and Dany arranges for a guard and a carriage to take her there. Viserion is restless for the journey, he can tell that something important is happening. It’s been three months now since Sansa had left Winterfell, and she herself was anxious to return.

“Oberyn must be going mad trying to deal with all my bannermen,” Sansa tells Ellaria softly as she helps the older woman climb into the carriage, “There stubborn, the whole lot of them.”

“Have you _met_ Oberyn’s bannermen?” Ellaria smirks at Sansa, “I can guarantee you there worse. I think Oberyn can handle a few rigid northerners.”

But how will they handle _you_?

Sansa thinks quietly to herself as she watches the carriage depart for Winterfell. It was a silent fear that her bannermen would rebel against the idea of their lady’s husband having a paramour living in Winterfell. She knew for certain that some of her Father’s old friends would have something to say about it. Her Father would never have approved of it, and would have most certainly had something to say to Oberyn about it.

Then again, her Father probably would have never allowed her to marry Oberyn in the first place.

“Ready to go?” Dany calls from a distance behind her. She had meant to come and see Ellaria off but business in the Red Keep had detained her. Sansa nods and turns towards the Red Keep and the dragon pits below, bracing herself for what she knew was going to be a long, icy ride to the Wall.

 

* * *

 

Oberyn Martell wasn’t accustomed to ruling a kingdom. He was the spare as many call him, just in case Doran died or was incapable of preforming his duties as Prince of Dorne. Oberyn never thought he would have to rule a kingdom, and the North was very much like a kingdom. It was _huge_ , and Sansa had a lot of bannermen. He’s had to hold monthly gatherings in her place and deal with trivial manners such as the theft of a pig all the way up to the murder of a villager. He’s even had to deal with a few deserters from the Wall. He would gladly take this mess over the idea of the white walkers attacking again however.

Slowly but surely they were rebuilding the village beyond the walls of the Keep and the villagers were able to return home. Another thing that weighed on his mind was the missive he received stating that Ellaria would be arriving by carriage in two week’s time at Winterfell.  He worried for her safety travelling the Northern roads. It was dangerous in the snow and even more so dangerous with white walkers running lose across the northern lands. Ellaria was stubborn though, she wanted to be by his side and nothing would stop her from doing that when she set her mind upon it.

Slowly he stands and stretches, his back cracking from the length of time he’s been sitting upon the Winter throne, the seat of the Warden of the North. He steps out into the bitter cold morning, the yard inside the keep was slick with ice and snow. Men and women walk to and fro carting fire wood and food as he maneuvers through them all, heading for the blacksmith shop.

“How is my request coming?” He asks as he steps inside, the blistering heat of the forge burning against his cold cheeks.

Gendry glances up as he comes in and nods, “It goes well M’lord, this metal you’ve sent for…it’s unlike anything I’ve ever worked with. It was a bit tricky at first but I think I’ve worked out how to fold it.”

“That’s expensive and very old metal you’re working with boy,” Oberyn warns him lightly, “Be careful with it.”

“Of course M’lord,” Gendry nods respectfully, “I’m grateful for the opportunity to work with it.”

“Forge Masters with a lot more experience have failed to form it properly,” Oberyn tells him, “but I think you’ll manage just fine.”

Gendry nods, “You wanted two swords right?”

“Yes,” Oberyn nods, “I want one to be light enough for a woman to wield, and another for a man.”

“Like the Targaryen swords,” Gendry nods in thought, “I’ve heard stories about Blackfyre and Dark Sister.”

Oberyn nods, “Yes, just like that.”

Gendry nods with a smile to himself as he works, folding the metal, pressing it into the flames and then folding again. Sweat beads against his brow as he works, the bitter cold outside never reaches him when he works at a forge. This sort of metal required heavy heat and he’s been burning through firewood and coal faster than it can be replaced. He has to keep the fire hot though, otherwise the metal won’t be supple enough to form.  He’s only ever worked with this once before, and he was an apprentice at the time when he did it. He wasn’t even allowed to form it then, he often helped with the polishing and the making of the pommel and hilt but that was about it. Now _he_ was the one doing all the work and he would work until the two swords were perfect.

Arya was going to love this.

 

* * *

 

“It fits well,” Dany muses allowed as she looks Sansa over, “I had it made for you, I figured you’d need something more suitable for dragon riding.”

Sansa touches the soft brown leather of the sleeveless over coat, golden dragons embroidered into the collar and on the sleeve edges. It was lined with soft beige fur as well to keep her warm, and under it went a simple linen shirt and a pair of sand silk breeches. She paired them with warm fur lined brown leather boots as well, and braided her hair in a northern fashion to keep it from mussing in the wind.

“It’s very comfortable,” Sansa tells her softly with a smile. She was still braiding the ends of her ponytail, which she had tied off higher up and began a five strand braid. Sansa never cared for the heavier Northern style braids as she got older because they didn’t suit well in court life. They made her look _wild_ , and Sansa needed to look respectable before the court.

“You look like a warrior,” Dany muses allowed, “A proper Targaryen dragon rider.”

“I’m not Targaryen,” Sansa smiles faintly at Dany, “and I think Viserion would beg to differ about my skill as a dragon rider.”

“He’s young,” Dany shrugs, “He’ll get used to the commands.”

When she’d finished braiding her hair she pulls on a heavy fur lined long sleeve coat that she buttoned in the front and pulled the hood up over her head, swinging her long fiery braid down over one shoulder.  “I’m going to freeze up there.”

“Just stay low near the valley,” Dany instructs her as they walk towards the dragon pits and Viserion’s stall. “The cold air is up higher. Remember not to fly him too high or he’ll get too cold, dragons don’t do well in the cold as you know. Make sure you give him breaks in between too.”

Sansa nods, “anything else?”

“Give this to Jon,” Dany tells her as she hands Sansa a missive sealed with the Targaryen crest in red wax, “It’s the battle plans for the Neck and the Twins. Also tell Aegon I want him at the Neck as soon as possible.”

Sansa tucks the missive safely into her coat and gingerly climbs onto Viserion’s back. The pale white dragon shakes the dust from his scales as he walks towards the open double doors of the pits, leading to the outside world.

“Also,” Dany calls as an afterthought, “Tell Jon that Viserion is my gift to him, for his new position as Lord Commander.”

Sansa smiles and nods, “I will.”

“Thank you,” Dany replies as Sansa and Viserion depart. Dany watches them go with a mixture of sadness and worry. She worried for Jon on the Wall and for Viserion who would be with him. She worried something would happen to one or both of them. So many things to worry about, what of her nephew Aegon? This war was going to be brutal and dangerous and she feared to lose what family she had left to her.

“Be safe,” she whispers into the icy breeze, a silent hope and prayer that her family would survive all of this, “Be safe.”

 

* * *

 

It was freezing high above Westeros, and Sansa’s hands her numb even wrapped in the fur and leather of her gloves. The reigns in her hands were a struggle to hold onto, and she was now grateful she opted to bring a saddle. At first she refused because she liked to fly without one now. Yet the stirrups were a relief to her aching legs, she could rest her feet in them and give herself a break. Viserion was cold too, she could tell by his temperament. They landed a few times along the way to give him a break and let her stretch out her aching limbs.

“Viserion,” Sansa says bemusedly when he huddles down into the snow and stares at her pointedly. It was a simple way of him saying ‘ _I’m tired and were stopping for the night.’_

“I haven’t much to offer you,” Sansa tells him as she pats his muzzle lovingly, “You were fed enough for the trip and more food will be waiting for you when we reach the Wall. If we stop now, you’ll not be getting supper.”

His answer was plain and simple as he snorted, hot breath billowing across her face before he tucks his head under his wing and pointedly ignores her. Sansa rubs her hands together and looks around, the land was covered in ice and snow and as she stares at the landscape something clicks in her mind.

“High Heart,” she breaths allowed, “Were at High Heart.”

She looks at the dragon behind her thoughtfully, silently wondering if this was all planned somehow, if fate made sure she ended up back on this hill. She’s been here once before, years and years ago when she was young and she was travelling with Aegon on Rhaegal, seeking the other kingdoms for their fealty to Dany. The memories she had of the night she spent on High Heart were blurred but she distinctly remembers how scary it had been. The worst part was now Aegon wasn’t here with her, and all she had was Viserion to keep her company.

“Were in the Riverlands,” Sansa clicks her tongue as she looks at Viserion, “The _least_ you could have done was gotten us to Riverrun. We could have had a hot meal and a warm bed.”

The dragon doesn’t stir and Sansa rolls her eyes before picking her way under his wings, burrowing down in the warmth against his side. She would make a fire to help keep him warm but Aegon was better at that. He’d taught her once but she could scarcely remember how now. She could have Viserion do it but every time she practiced the commands (especially for fire) she tended to set the whole bloody hillside ablaze rather than just one place.

Better safe than sorry.

By the time nightfall blankets the land Sansa is freezing. She’s been playing with an idea for a while, something she recalls Aegon using to make a fire long ago. Finally gathering her nerve, she risks the bitter cold beyond Viserion’s wings to find firewood. It’s a tedious task and when she’s back under his wings she’s nearly frozen to the bone with cold. Shivering violently, she struggles to keep her teeth from chattering as Viserion watches her curiously. Piling the wood together she makes a ring for a fire and then enunciates as clearly as she can the word for _heat_ in Valerian. “ _Dracara_.”

Viserion blinks at her before turning his massive head, heat pouring from his mouth as Sansa quickly shields herself outside in the bitter cold. Aegon had warned her once to keep back whenever a dragon did this. When the fire was roaring and the heat melted the cold from both Viserion and Sansa, she was finally able to curl against him and sleep.

Yet sleep did not come.

She was alone on High Heart and she was hungry, all she had to eat were a few bits of bread and some salted meat. Well into the night nothing stirred and Sansa felt the uneasiness in her relent. It was when she fell asleep that odd things began to happen.

When she opened her eyes she was looking at Bran. He was much older now, and as he raised his head to look at her he smiled, “I was wondering when you’d get here.”

“Why is it always High Heart?” Sansa says with a soft sigh before smiling at Bran, “I’ve missed you little brother.”

“And I you,” Bran replies, “How’s home?”

“It’s good,” Sansa tells him softly, “It’s been rebuilt and the bannermen have all joined together.”

“Good,” Bran nods, “That’s good. Its what Father would have wanted.”

“How did I get here Bran?” she asks curiously.

“Green dreams,” he explains, “Your dreaming.”

She nods, a flash of a memory behind her eyes, “I should have known.”

Magic churned in the ground of High Heart and she was currently sleeping on top of it. It was no wonder Bran was able to communicate with her now.

“How have you been Sansa?” Bran asks, watching her curiously.

“Busy,” she admits softly, “I’m wardeness of the North,” she tells him softly as she recounts her life over the past few years.

“Very busy,” Bran nods with a smile, “Do you hate me for not coming home?”

“No,” Sansa smiles at him gently, “I don’t hate you Bran, though I wish you could have been there. I understand that your place is with the Children now, but it doesn’t make me miss you any less.”

“I can’t be Warden of the North Sansa,” Bran admits to her, “I have another destiny.”

“I know,” Sansa nods, “I know.”

“I brought you here for a reason you know,” Bran says softly. They are sitting together on the floor underground beneath a great weirwood tree. The roots of the ancient tree grow down through the ground and occasionally Bran will look away from her as if talking to someone she can’t see before he looks at her, “I have something to tell you.”

“Like what?” Sansa frowns softly.

“A warning,” Bran tells her quietly, “Leaf asked me to tell you. She cannot reach you now, the white walkers have made that impossible. She asks me to tell you this,” Bran pauses as he debates his words, “You must come to the tree. A year and a day you have, not a day more. The fate of your loved ones depend upon it.”

“What?” Sansa blinks, a spike of panic jarring her, “Why? Is my family in danger?”

“Yes,” Bran says, “So is the rest of Westeros. If you want to stop the white walkers permanently…you must come to the tree.”

“A year and a day?” Sansa repeats slowly.

“Yes,” Bran nods, “Not a day more.”

“What happens if I don’t make it?” Sansa frowns worriedly, considering the dangers beyond the Wall.

“Don’t be,” Bran tells her pointedly.

“But what happens if I don’t Bran?” Sansa asks quickly. The world around them was starting to fade.

“Don’t be,” Bran repeats as his voice begins to sound quiet and distant. “Wake up now Sansa…you have to wake up.”

“Bran!” Sansa cries out to her brother.

“WAKE UP!” The voice shouts so loud that she is jarred awake, frightened and shaking.

Viserion stirs in his sleep and blinks at her lazily. She pats his muzzle gently as he nudges her worriedly and smiles at him, “I’m alright Viserion…it was just a dream.”


	67. Chapter 67

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

Leaning into the drop Sansa grins as she swoops down over the Wall, trailing along the miles of ice and stone until she reaches the Nightfort. Viserion gives a cry as they land, startling the guards and sending people running. Astride the back of a dragon Sansa figures she might make the imposing figure. Jon greets her at the gates as she slides off Viserion’s back.

“Jon!” Sansa smiles and embraces her cousin, “It’s been too long.”

“It has,” Jon agrees as he pats Viserion’s muzzle, “I’ve missed you too you big lizard.”

Viserion seems affronted by this, snorting a wave of heat in his face before bumping his head against Jon’s shoulder, “Yes, yes,” he laughs, “I know you’re hungry.”

“Dany sends her congratulations,” Sansa tells him, “and gifts Viserion to you for your position as Lord Commander. She also sends a missive,” Sansa explains as she hands him the letter, “It’s the battles plans for the white walkers and instructions for Aegon.”

They walk and talk as they head into the Nightfort, discussing the missive and the plans for the defense of the Neck and the Twins. Viserion is led elsewhere to be fed and lodged. Sansa would miss that dragon she thinks, but she has her own back home to tend too. She wonders how big he’s gotten since she’s been gone.

“I’m afraid we’ve got naught when it comes to accommodations Sansa,” Jon tells her, “Aegon’s got the King’s tower.”

“That’s alright,” Sansa says as she warms herself by the fire, “If you’ve got a horse to spare I’ll head home at first light.”

“Aegon can drop you off I’m sure,” Jon suggests, “He’s got to head for the Neck as it is.”

“I heard my name,” Aegon says as he enters the dining hall, “Sansa,” he grins at her, “It’s been a while.”

“It has,” she says as she embraces him, tugging at his silver hair playfully, “Your hair’s getting long.”

“I just need a bit of a cut really,” he grins down at her, “It’ll be fine.”

“Sansa will need a ride home in the morning,” Jon says as he proffers Dany’s missive to Aegon for him to read, “You’ll be headed that way anyways.”

“I see,” Aegon smiles faintly, “She can have the tower then,” he suggests, “I won’t allow her to sleep on some old bed in a bitter part of the keep.”

“Oh that’s alright,” Sansa smiles at him, “I don’t want to steal your bed away from you.”

“I’m offering it to you,” he tells her, “and I shan’t take no for an answer.”

“Oh,” Sansa says softly, “Very well then.”

“Good,” Aegon grins at her and then looks at Jon, “I need to get Rhaegal ready.”

“I also have a surprise for you,” Jon adds as Aegon gives him a funny look before walking off.

“What was that look for?” Sansa quirks an eyebrow at Jon.

“Because I haven’t told you yet,” Jon grins at her, “I wanted to surprise you.”

“With?” Sansa looks at him expectantly.

“SANSA!” cries a voice she thought she’d never hear again. When she turns and sees Rickon running towards her, Shaggy dog at his heels she very nearly collapses. Shock and relief and joy flood her veins as she embraces him, tears prickling in her eyes.

“Rickon,” Sansa breathes in joy, “Oh _Rickon_!”

“I missed you!” Rickon smiles up at his older sister.

“I missed you too,” she tells him as tears trickle down her cheeks, “Little brother I missed you so much, where have you been?”

“The Red Isles,” he tells her, “and the Westerlands…the Riverlands…I’ve been all over Sansa.”

“A wildling woman by the name of Osha took care of him,” Jon explains, “She’ll be along shortly.”

When Osha arrives Sansa sits with the wildling woman and Rickon well into the night talking about the adventures Rickon’s had with Osha. Before long Sansa sends him off to bed and heads for the King’s tower herself, aching for a hot bath and a warm bed.

That evening Sansa curls up in the soft feather bed in the Kings tower, listening to the wind howl in the eaves outside. It was ten times colder up at the Wall then at Winterfell, and she shivered despite how many layers of blankets she’s piled on top of her. She resorted to sleeping in her outer coat, curling into the thick fur as she folds her feet up under her to keep her toes warm.  Twice she had to get up and stir the fire to get it going again, the wind in the chimney kept burning it low.

* * *

 

Sleep comes to her far easier than it did on High Heart though, and before long morning comes and sunlight though dim and grey, pours through the tower windows. She burrows deeper into the covers, ignoring the sound of Rhaegal’s cries down below and the men working on the Wall outside.

Gingerly she climbs out of bed and gets dressed, mourning the loss of the warmth and comfort of the feather bed. Layering up in the clothes Dany had made for her Sansa braids her hair and readies herself for the day.

Outside the wind is icy and the sky is overcast, but the men are cheerful. She pulls her fur lined hood up over her head, swinging her long red braid down over one shoulder. As she walks Aegon falls in beside her and they stride towards Rhaegal discussing the day’s events.

“Ellaria is coming to Winterfell too,” Sansa tells him as they walk, “I just hope she’ll like Winterfell.”

“We all have to make changes,” Aegon says as he ties back his hair, “She’ll get used to it I’m sure.”

“Shaggy dog!” Rickon calls as he runs across the yard with the direwolf in tow, “Come on boy!”

“I might need to make one more request of you Aegon,” Sansa says as she watches Rickon dash around the sparring yard.

“Rhaegal isn’t going to be happy about carrying three people,” he tells her with a smile, “But he’ll deal with it.”

“Three?” Rickon stops and looks at Sansa, “What about Osha and Shaggy dog?”

“I’m not riding no bloody dragon no how,” Osha chimes in as she steps out into the yard and looks at Sansa, “Begging y’er pardon M’lady of course.”

“But I’m not leaving you,” Rickon says worriedly to Osha.

“Rickon,” she says gently as she kneels in the snow to look at him, “It’s time you go home with your own kin,” she explains gently, “M’lord Commander Crow wants me here to help him with the wildlings and I’ve agreed. I know something about me own people and I think I can help. Your job,” she continues to tell him, “is just as I taught you little lordling. You got responsibilities back home and you got to go home and help your sister.”

“But Shaggy dog,” Rickon frowns at Osha worriedly.

“Will go with the Nights Watch when they head for Winterfell to recruit people,” Jon says from his place above them on a wooden balcony, “Don’t worry about him Rickon, Ghost will keep him company…” Jon says to him, “wherever he is.”

“Osha,” Rickon frowns softly at her before hugging her. She was as much a Mother to him as Catelyn Stark ever was, and it made his heart ache to leave her.

“I’ll come and visit you,” Osha tells him, fighting the tears prickling in her eyes, “I’ll come and visit soon don’t you worry none my little lordling.”

Nine years Osha raised Rickon, nine years of adventures and dangers and over that time they became a family together, and now that family was breaking apart. Rickon nods, sorrow in his eyes as he looks at Sansa, “I can have her visit?”

“Of course you can,” Sansa reassures him, “any time you want.”

“I want now,” Rickon says quickly.

“Soon little lordling,” Osha replies, “Not just yet…but soon I promise.”

“Ok,” Rickon nods and hugs her again before turning away to follow Sansa and Aegon out towards Rhaegal.  Jon follows them out as well, and Sansa falls in beside him so she can speak with him privately.

“I’ve spoken to Bran,” she says quietly.

“How is he then?” Jon quirks an eyebrow. Sansa once told him her adventures at High Heart and how Bran’s been trying to communicate with her through the weirwood tree. At first he thought she was completely mad, until one night Bran spoke to him too. From then on he took her seriously when she spoke of Bran and this time was no different.

“He’s fine,” Sansa says softly, “but he has a task for me. A year and day from now I have to go beyond the Wall.”

“What?” Jon frowns, “Why?”

“He won’t say,” Sansa sighs, “He just says I have to go and not a day more…or something really bad is going to happen.”

Jon watches her curiously, contemplating her words, “It’s dangerous beyond the Wall.”

“I know,” Sansa says softly, “But by the I’d have Blackfyre…he should be big enough to ride by then.”

“Dragon or no,” Jon tells her, “I don’t want you going alone…you have to tell Oberyn, Sansa.”

“I know,” Sansa says softly, “I will.”

“Good,” he nods before motioning towards Rhaegal where Aegon and Rickon waited for her. “Safe travels cousin.”

“You too,” Sansa smiles as she hugs him and turns towards Rhaegal. They leave in the light of the early morning much to Rhaegal’s disproval. To carry one or two is one thing, but _three_ is an entirely different subject. Rickon enjoys it though, his laughter was carried out onto the wind as he outstretches his arms and pretends that he’s flying. Sansa presses back into Aegon, sitting between his arms with Rickon in front of her, her hands wrapped around his middle to keep him from falling. 

It was going to be a long ride to Winterfell.


	68. Chapter 68

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

When Rhaegal landed at the gates of Winterfell mid-afternoon, Rhaegal was grateful for the reprieve. Rickon slid off his back and went bounding into the keep with Sansa hot on his heels trying to reel him in. She waved to Aegon as she went, thanking him for his kindness as he soared away of Rhaegal once more, bound for the Neck.

“ARYA!” Rickon yelled as he ran through the courtyard looking for his other sister.

“Rickon?” Arya’s head snaps up at the sound, suddenly alert. She was with Gendry at the forge, she liked to sit with him while he worked.  She jumps to her feet and steps out into the courtyard, watching the fourteen year old boy running up to her, shaggy dark hair hanging down into his eyes, leather furs and dirt smudged on his pale cheeks. “Rickon!” she shouts happily and embraces her brother.

The Stark siblings reunited at last, Sansa led them all into the great hall for lunch. She meets Oberyn at the doors and kisses him soundly, happy to see her beloved once more. “I’ve found another brother.” She tells him, nodding to Rickon. “Rickon, this is my Lord Husband and your good brother, Prince Oberyn Martell.”

Rickon looks up at him, blinking his dark eyes. Sansa quickly brushes the hair back from his face in a mothering gesture, amused by his appearance. Rickon was never one to keep himself tidy regardless of how hard Catelyn Stark had tried to teach him.

“My lord,” Rickon bows, his hair flopping forward as he does.

“My lord,” Oberyn bows his head respectfully as he follows them all into the dining hall for lunch.

“How was your trip?” Oberyn asks Sansa as they walk.

“Long,” Sansa says, “I missed my feather bed dearly.”

“And not the one who sleeps with you in it?” Oberyn quirks an eyebrow, smirking at her.

She elbows him playfully, weary of Rickon overhearing them. “Hush you,” Sansa warns him lightly, “My little brother will hear you.”

Rickon Stark was welcomed home warmly by the banners, and food was passed around and wine was poured well into the evening. Everybody knew what this meant of course, including Sansa. Sansa was now officially Regent of the North until Rickon came of age, and even then Sansa was worried about him. Rickon’s mannerisms were rough and unpracticed, he understood very little about ruling a kingdom, he’d spent too much time on his own in the wild with Osha and Shaggy dog. Sansa would have to spend the next few years reeducating him and getting him up to speed if he were to take over the North. Oberyn would handle his training of course, he would teach Rickon to wield a blade as well as ride a horse and handle the day to day duties as the patriarch of the family.

* * *

 

When everyone was settled in Sansa turned in for the night, spending much of it lounging in a copper tub scrubbing the cold from her skin and hair. When she’s done she finds Oberyn already in bed, mulling over a stack of papers he has spread out over the covers.

“No work after dark,” Sansa tells him, “isn’t that what we agreed upon?”

“I need to sort out these disputes,” he tells her, “The trading agreement needs to be finalized.”

“Oh blast that trading agreement,” Sansa sighs, “Those lords who control the trading routes on the Northern roads can be rather fickle can’t they? Anyhow, I don’t see how it’s going to make a difference with white-walkers attacking people at random on the roads.”

“They haven’t been seen nor heard from since they attacked Winterfell,” Oberyn tells her, “Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

“Very,” Sansa agrees. She doesn’t want to dwell on white walkers or trading agreements right now however. Bran’s warning haunts the back of her mind and whispers in her dreams at night _._

_A year and a day, not a day more…_

There was something ominous about that warning, something that sent chills down Sansa’s spine every time she thought about it. She had an uneasiness in her stomach every time she thought about it, every time she looked at Oberyn and at Winterfell. Would she lose them all if she failed?

“Sansa,” Oberyn’s voice cuts into her thoughts and she blinks, raising her gaze to meet his.

“Where were you just now?” He asks her curiously.

“Oh,” Sansa smiles faintly at him as she pushes the papers aside, scattering them on the floor haphazardly. “Just thinking about trading agreements.” She climbs into his lap and tugs at his shirt until it falls open, sliding warm kisses along his bare shoulders.

“And do trading agreements often make you so excited?” Oberyn asks though he’s grinning as his clever fingers untie her over gown.

“Oh yes,” she tells him, “especially when my husband is working on them.”

“Mmm,” Oberyn says as he flips her under him, pressing his weight down on her, “I must endeavor to do them more often then.”

* * *

 

When the dawn came, it came with a rather loud banging sound. Sansa wakes blurry eyed and groggy to the sound of Rickon running through the halls with one of the children from the village right behind him. Arya was down in the sparring yard with needle practicing and the forge was as noisy as ever, the blacksmith banging away with his hammer as he worked.

“I must set hours of work for that boy,” Oberyn groans loudly beside her.

“Indeed you must,” Sansa agrees, “Though it is half past nine in the morning my love,” Sansa tells him, “We should get up.”

“I suppose,” he yawns and stretches, climbing out of bed. Sansa follows shortly after, pulling out clothes for the day and putting them on. These days she doesn’t require anyone to help her anymore, she’s come to a point in her life that she likes her privacy and prefers to do things on her own.

“I’ve got so much to do today,” Sansa says absentmindedly, “I need to check on the taxes…greet the bannermen,” she tells him, counting off a list more for herself then for him, “I need to speak to the maester and get Rickon’s lessons started, by the way I’ll need you to start his training as soon as possible. I also need to clear out one of the guest chambers to make a nursery for Ellaria.”

As soon as it left her mouth she immediately regretted it, clapping a hand over her mouth as her eyes widen in realization.

 _Opps_ …

“Nursery?” Oberyn turns to look at her curiously, an eyebrow quirked.

“I meant… _room_ …” Sansa says stupidly, knowing she can’t get out of this.

“Is Ellaria pregnant?” he grins at her knowingly, stalking towards her across the room. She backs way and keeps going until she finds that he’s following her every step, grinning knowingly as she tries to get away from him.

“No,” Sansa tells him and he raises both eyebrows, knowing full well that she was lying.

“Yes,” Sansa sighs and gives up but then adds quickly, “But you _can’t_ tell her that you know! You have to be surprised when she tells you, she made me promise not to tell you because she wanted to surprise you.”

He would be surprised though; Sansa thinks with a happy smile. He doesn’t know it’ll be a boy just yet. Oberyn grins as he swings her up into his arms and turns in a circle. Sansa giggles as he sets her down, Oberyn kissing her soundly. “I’m going to be a Father again.”

“Yes,” Sansa grins up at him, “yes you are.”


	69. Chapter 69

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

Arya was nervous, and not in the way she’s ever been nervous before. Rummaging through Sansa’s closet for one thing, made her nervous. Over the past four months she’s spent time with Gendry, and the more she was with him the more she liked him. He made her heart flutter and her stomach flip uncomfortably. Yet what she noticed was that he noticed pretty girls. Arya wasn’t pretty, she was average at best. She knew if she wanted him to like her, the best chance of that was probably to scrub the dirt off her face at the very least.

“Arya?” Sansa is standing in the doorway of her bedchambers, watching her younger sister dig through her clothes. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” she says quickly, dropping the blue silk gown she’d found in the back of the closet, one small enough to suit Arya’s shorter stature.

“You’re looking at my gowns,” Sansa points out with a curious look, “Did….” She stops for a moment and blinks at her, “Did you want to wear one of them?”

“I can’t,” Arya says without looking at Sansa, uncomfortably embarrassed at being caught snooping, “I just…I’m too short.”

“I can have one made for you,” Sansa tells her, “Anything you like really,” she adds with a nervous flutter of excitement. Arya was finally easing into the idea of being a proper lady, and at long last Sansa was finally getting the sister she always dreamed of. Granted she’d never trade Arya for anything, but it was nice to see Arya becoming at least _interested_ in dresses.

“No,” Sansa shakes her head, “That’s alright.” Arya fingers the silk of the blue gown she’d found questionably. She liked it really, it was the color of the sea in a storm and it offset her dark brown hair nicely.

“Here,” Sansa says as she takes the gown from Arya, “let me help you get it on. You’ll need a corset too,” she adds and Arya watches Sansa work, pulling out stockings and corsets of different sizes, ribbons and jewels and all sorts of odds and ends that Arya hardly knew what to do with.  So she just sits there and let’s Sansa work, pulling her hair back, curling it lightly, the jewelry and the corset and then finally the gown. Staring in the mirror Arya hardly recognized herself. She touches her face, the soft powder smoothing her pale skin, her lips were lightly touched with rouge as Sansa pinches her cheeks lightly to bring some color into them. “There,” Sansa grins at her sister in the mirror, “You look beautiful.”

Arya continues to stare at then looks at Sansa, “Thanks.” Is all she says as she stands, stepping closer to the mirror to examine herself. Sansa seems to sense something monumental about this and sneaks out, leaving Arya alone with her thoughts. Gendry was waiting for her in the godswood under the weirwood tree, she was bringing him food from the kitchens so they could have lunch there. The forge wasn’t the best place to eat what with soot and dust from his work on every available surface.  Bravely she musters all her nerve and goes out into the courtyard, ignoring the stares and the stunned looks on people’s faces.

There goes Arya Stark, the girl who runs around with dirt on her face dressed like a proper lady.

She grimaces at the thought and keeps walking, basket on one arm as she goes. She nicked them both a bottle of ale and some decent butter bread from the kitchens, and much to Gendry’s pleasure an apple for them to split.

“Good morning my lady,” a voice stops her and she turns to see Lord Tallhart’s son, standing near the gates with his Father. He freezes upon realizing who she is, probably mistaking her for her sister.

Not sure how he managed that though, Sansa’s hair stands out to well…

Arya thinks with wry amusement as Lord Tallhart’s son, Lord Benjamin walks up to her and bows respectfully, “You look splendid today Lady Arya.”

“Thank you my lord,” Arya says with as careful a curtsey as she can manage. If she fell over in front of him she’d be humiliated. “I have to go now,” she says quickly before turning to leave, a blush rising in her cheeks as she escapes the tall lordling whose hungry gaze trails along after her as she goes.

This was going to be harder then she thought.

 

* * *

 

“So that’s what this is about,” Sansa muses from a window inside the keep, watching her sister talk to Lord Tallhart’s son. She abruptly turns pink and leaves quickly, and Sansa can’t help but giggle. Her sister wasn’t exactly smooth when it comes to flirting with men but she’ll get better at it. She would have to teach Arya the art of speech at some point, a lesson Catelyn Stark had taught Sansa when she was younger. Sansa was taught how to speak and talk with lordlings to keep their interest and respect them politely. Arya wasn’t very good at it, if the baffled and confused look on Lord Tallhart’s son’s face was anything to go by.

“Have you found something interesting my love?” Oberyn’s voice drifts towards her.

“Yes,” Sansa grins, “I think I know why Arya’s been in my closet now.”

“Oh?” Oberyn quirks an eyebrow at her.

“Lord Tallhart’s son,” Sansa says, “It’s an excellent match don’t you think? I do hope she can hold onto him. He’s northern and he comes from a good family. It would make our ties stronger with the Tallhart’s as well.”

Oberyn is oddly silent at her words, and Sansa turns to look at him curiously, “You know something don’t you?”

“Perhaps,” Oberyn says, staring down at the paperwork on the desk in front of him.

“What do you know?” Sansa says, cornering him.

“I know many things my love,” he grins at her.

“About _Arya_ , Oberyn,” Sansa says pointedly.

“I know that she’s been spending a great deal of time with that boy Gendry,” Oberyn says without meeting her gaze.

“The _blacksmith_?” Sansa says with mild horror.

 

* * *

 

The godswood is thick with snow as Arya walks, careful to keep the hem of her dress out of the dirt. She felt sort of stupid dressed like this, but if it’s what Gendry likes…

“There you are,” Gendry says without looking up, “wondered what was taking you so long, I’m starving…” he trails off as he raises his gaze to look at her, taking in her appearance. For a brief moment he looks shocked, surprised even. Then he masks the expression quickly and quirks an eyebrow at her, “What are you _wearing_?”

“It’s a dress,” Arya tells him, “Haven’t you ever seen a dress before?”

“Not on you,” Gendry laughs a little though Arya notes that his eyes are on her chest. Immediately she realizes the problem and pulls her cloak tighter around her as she comes to sit with him on the log beneath the weirwood tree, pulling food from the basket she brought with her.

“Well I am a lady you know,” Arya points out, “You would think at one point I’d be wearing a dress.”

“You’d think so,” Gendry nods as he chews with an amused glitter in his eyes, “But not on you.”

“Lord Tallhart’s family is here to visit,” Arya tells him, “I had to look presentable.”

“You look like a queen,” Gendry says honestly, and Arya blushes brightly, pretending his words don’t affect her.

“Thanks,” Arya tells him as they eat. She pulls a dagger from the basket and cuts the apple she brought with her in half, handing him a piece, “It came from Highgarden, last bit of apples they had.”

“It’s sweet,” Gendry nods as he chews, “Can’t remember the last time I had an apple.”

“Do you…” Arya says as she watches her reflection in the pond, dancing in the cracks of ice layered across the pond, “Do you think I’m pretty?”

Gendry very nearly chokes on the apple he’d been chewing when she asks this, blinking at her before nervously staring down at the bit of food left in his hands, “I uh…I suppose so.”

They sit in silence for a few moments, Arya nervously staring at her feet and Gendry staring at the pond before he says, “I have to go,” he tells her as he stands, “I’d best be getting back to work.”

“Oh yeah,” Arya nods and stands as well, “I have too…to speak to the lord’s waiting for me in the keep.”

It was such a lie, but she was _so_ nervous.

“Well then,” Gendry smiles nervously, shuffling as he goes towards the courtyard. The two part with nervous smiles and their gazes anywhere but on each other’s faces. When he’s gone and Arya’s back in the courtyard she dumps the basket she’d been carrying on a table inside the great hall and stalks off to her own private bed chambers, defeated and utterly embarrassed. How could she think that Gendry would ever see her like that? How could she think he’d honestly think she was pretty?

She was such a fool.

 

* * *

 

Inside the keep Sansa spots Arya whip past and follows, her sister looking thoroughly distract. When she reaches Arya’s bed chambers she hears her younger sister inside, struggling to get her gown off. Stepping inside she watches Arya silently, her younger sister frustrated and angry looking though very quiet about it.

“Need help?” Sansa offers softly.

“Yes,” Arya admits reluctantly, “I can’t breathe in this awful thing.”

Sansa steps closer and helps her out of the corset before watching Arya pull the clips and jewels from her hair and neck before scrubbing her face clean and pulling on a linen tunic and pair of plain breeches.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sansa asks with a quirked eyebrow.

“No,” Arya replies quietly.

“Well,” Sansa says softly as she sits down on Arya’s bed, “ _I_ want to talk to _you_ about Gendry.”

Arya freezes and turns to look at her, “How do _you_ know about Gendry?”

“How do you think?” Sansa smiles wryly at her.

“Oberyn,” Arya growls aloud, “That sneaky snake.”

“He’s not going to lie to his wife Arya,” Sansa says softly, “but about Gendry. Are you in love with him?”

“No,” Arya admits quietly, “I just…I wanted to look pretty for him.”

“Why?” Sansa quirks an eyebrow at her.

“Because he likes girls that are pretty,” she says softly.

“And you don’t think your pretty?” Sansa asks her as she watches Arya flop down on the bed beside her.

“No…I don’t know,” Arya shrugs, “I’ve never really cared before.”

“Well,” Sansa begins softly, “I think your pretty. I also think you need to be yourself, and never change yourself for anyone. If Gendry can’t see the jewel he has in you, then he’s not worthy of you.”

“Your honestly not going to spout off about him being a bastard?” Arya asks her pointedly, “I was expecting _that_ at the very least.”

“He _is_ base born Arya,” Sansa says softly, “but Oberyn and I spoke at length about it before I came here. He told me I needed to give you a chance to defend your ideals….so…defend it.”

“I have a right to court who I want,” Arya tells her pointedly, “and it’s not like he’s courting me anyways. He doesn’t even think I’m pretty.”

“He told you that?” Sansa raises her eyebrows.

“He told me I was pretty,” Arya admits, “but not…not like how Oberyn tells you that your pretty.”

“I see,” Sansa says though mildly confused, “You asked him?”

“Yes,” Arya sighs, rubbing her face, “Was that stupid of me?”

“Yes,” Sansa laughs a little and Arya glares at her, “Why ever would you put him on the spot like that? He was probably _nervous_.”

“I doubt it,” Arya tells her, “Gendry’s never nervous.”

“Arya,” Sansa sighs, “You _do_ know that there is no future with that boy. He can’t support you…put a roof over your head, keep food on your table.”

“I know that,” Arya tells her, “But what if I don’t want the life of a highborn lady? What if I don’t mind being wed to a base born? What if one day, I decide I want to marry some base born fishermen or so be it… _a blacksmith_?”

“Then,” Sansa swallows thickly, “I would be disappointed Arya. I won’t lie to you…I would be. I want better for you; I want everything Father ever wanted for you. I feel like I would have failed him if you married a base born, but I would be happy for you regardless. I would want you to be happy regardless of where you find that happiness. If you’re happy living in a mud hut in the middle of the summer set sea on an island entirely populated by one legged yellow birds and your _blacksmith_ ,” Sansa smiles faintly, “I would wish you all the happiness in the world.”

“Truly?” Arya blinks at her.

“Truly,” Sansa smiles as Arya abruptly hugs her, the two sisters slowly healing the rift between them that had formed when they were younger.  “I love you little sister,” Sansa whispers into her hair, “I know I can be bossy and stern but I truly do love you and I care about what happens to you.”

After a few moments pause, “I love you too,” Arya whispers quietly. Then suddenly as if an afterthought, “Would you come with me to the Trident one of these days?”

Sansa laughs, joy singing in her voice, “Yes…but I doubt we’ll find any rubies.”

“You remember that?” Arya grins up at her, “We were so young then.”

“Yeah,” Sansa nods with a smile, “and I was _so_ stupid then. Really I am sorry for the way I treated you.”

“It’s alright,” Arya answers, “I’m sorry too.”

“So,” Sansa asks after a while, “what now?”

“Dinner?” Arya quirks an eyebrow.

“Dinner,” Sansa smiles and nods as the two sister get up and head down to the dining hall together.


	70. Chapter 70

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

True to his word, Oberyn Martell was surprised as ever the day Ellaria arrived by carriage four months pregnant. They embraced and kissed and Oberyn laughed with mirth and joy and love. Sansa met them at the gates and kissed and embraced Ellaria as well, the three laughing and talking about the exciting news.

“I’ve made a room for you,” Sansa tells her secretly when she and Ellaria were alone, “I’ve had it decorated too.

“Did Oberyn see it yet?” Ellaria grins at her.

“No,” Sansa tells her, “I made sure he didn’t.”

“Good,” Ellaria grins at her, “I want to keep the gender of the baby a secret until it’s born,” Ellaria tells her.

Sansa nods, “I think that would make for a good surprise indeed.”

“I’m famished,” Ellaria says as she enters the chambers that Sansa set aside for her.

“Dinner’s ready,” Sansa tells her softly, “and afterwards I’ll give you a tour of the castle.”

“I would like that I think,” Ellaria smiles at her, “But first… _a bath_.”

* * *

 

They eat together as a family for the first time in ages it seems, and then afterwards Sansa gives Ellaria a tour of the castle. When it was time for bed, Sansa opted to spend time with Rickon so that Ellaria had time to speak with Oberyn about the baby privately. Ellaria didn’t object to Sansa’s presence but Sansa felt she needed it.

Rickon’s room is a disaster when she finds him.

“Rickon?” Sansa asks tentatively.

“Sansa?” Rickon looks up from his place on the bed, “I’m here.”

“I see that,” Rickon says as she goes to sit with her brother, “How are you?”

“I’m good,” Rickon tells her, “but…. Sansa I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Rickon begins slowly, a worried look on his face, “When’s Robb and Mother coming home?”

The question startles her and she looks at him, surprised that her little brother didn’t know. How was she going to explain this to him? “Rickon,” Sansa says softly, “You know that Father is dead, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Rickon says tentatively, watching Sansa’s face in the flicker of the firelight in the hearth.

“Well,” she begins slowly, “Robb called the banners and went to war against the Lannisters over it. He took up the Winter crown and declared himself King in the North, officially declaring the North a separate kingdom from the rest of the realm. He closed off the Neck, and took a bride. However, that bride was supposed to be a Frey…and he didn’t hold to his agreement with the Freys. They turned on him,” Sansa says sadly, hating to see the mournful look on Rickon’s face, “and they sided with the Lannisters in secret. They tricked him into a wedding feast where he met that agreement he made with them with his Uncle Edmure instead, marrying his Uncle to the Frey girl in his place. Well the Frey’s didn’t like that Rickon…and they…” Sansa trails off, the words trapped in her throat, “They murdered Robb and our Lady Mother.”

Rickon just stares at her before tears well in his eyes. He wipes at them furiously and looks away from her, and for the first time Sansa begins to truly wrap her mind around the idea that Rickon was no longer the five year old she remembered but now a fourteen year old boy. He looked so awkward trying to hide his tears from her and yet she embraced him anyways. “I’m sorry,” she tells him softly, “I thought you knew.”

“No,” Rickon mumbles against her shoulder, “I tried to ask Arya once and she just looked at me funny.”

Sansa rolls her eyes at these words, Arya who wouldn’t want to brooch such a sensitive topic. Sansa knew that Arya had seen her Father killed as well, and it was probably something Arya would never want to speak of to anyone. Arya had always been closer to their Father then she was. She sits with Rickon until he falls asleep before sneaking out of his bedchambers and back into her own.

 

* * *

 

The following weeks see Sansa and Ellaria preparing for the baby, picking out color themes and sending out for imported goods from Dorne.  Sansa sits in the nursery with Ellaria, trying her hand and sewing. It’s been so long since she’s done it, but her stitches were just as straight as they used to be.

“Are you making a baby blanket?” Ellaria quirks an eyebrow at Sansa.

“Yes,” Sansa smiles at her as she squints at the stitches, counting them as she goes, “I don’t know if it’ll be a boy or a girl so I’m going to wait to put in the last bit.”

“It’s a boy,” Ellaria tells her softly, “I’m certain of it. The baby rides differently than my daughters did. Speaking of my daughters…we need to set up chambers for them.”

“Yes,” Sansa nods and then adds, “I was thinking about using Bran’s room. He doesn’t need it anymore because he means to stay beyond the Wall. We could redecorate it and have beds put in.”

“Just my youngest are coming,” Ellaria tells her, “The others want to stay in Dorne with their Uncle.”

“Was Oberyn displeased?” Sansa asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“No,” Ellaria sighs, “I was though…I will miss my elder daughters. It is there decision as Oberyn told me, and I must respect it.”

“I don’t want them travelling the Northern roads until these White Walkers are dealt with,” Sansa says firmly. It frightened her to let Ellaria do it, but now her children?

Absolutely not.

Ellaria just looks at her thoughtfully for a moment before she says, “If that’s what you wish.”

“It is,” Sansa tells her pointedly, “I won’t allow children to travel those dangerous roads alone.”

“They’ll have dornish guards,” Ellaria points out.

“Don’t be daft,” Sansa sighs as she meets Ellaria’s gaze, “I know you miss them but I would not risk their lives for anything. They are safe in Dorne with their Uncle. When the war is over and the dust has settled, only then will I allow them to come here.”

“Spoken like a true wardeness,” Ellaria smirks at her.

“I am,” Sansa smiles knowingly at her.

Then abruptly, a loud growl and sharp jarring of the castle leaves dust sprinkling down from the ceiling. Ellaria looks down at the piece of buttered bread she’d been eating, now coated in a thin layer of stone dust and then at Sansa, her look bordering on withering. “That dragon cannot stay in the crypts anymore Sansa.”

“He’s just lonely,” Sansa tells her softly as she sets her work aside and stands, “I’ll go see him…and I’ll send more bread up to you.” Kissing Ellaria softly she dashes out of the room and sends a servant up to Ellaria as she goes.

 

* * *

 

Outside the winter wind howls but Sansa gingerly makes her way across the courtyard, yanking open the crypt doors. She is greeted with the hot breath of a dragon, his bright green eyes watching her curiously. He was as big as a horse now, gone were the days when he used to ride on her shoulder.

“Easy,” Sansa tells him softly, picking up a brush to start brushing out the dust from his scales, “Easy there.” Blackfyre makes a funny noise at the back of his throat and presses against the brush, making Sansa giggle. “You’re going to knock me over silly.”

“Sansa?” Oberyn’s voice can be heard outside.

“I’m in here,” Sansa replies as her husband steps into view at the wide double doors of the crypt.

“Someone told me that Blackfyre was making a mess again,” Oberyn tells her, “I came to check on him.”

“He’s just vying for attention is all,” Sansa tells him with a wry smile.

“He’s huge,” Oberyn observes, “No doubt within the year he’ll be more then big enough to ride.”

“He’s big enough to ride now actually,” Sansa points out, “but I wouldn’t dare try…his wings wouldn’t be strong enough and I don’t want to put him under the strain.”

“You know,” Oberyn tells her as he watches her brush Blackfyre, “If he keeps growing like this he’ll need a bigger place to stay. He won’t fit in the crypts anymore. My vote would be for the dragon pits in Kings Landing.”

“That’s clear across the other side of Westeros Oberyn,” Sansa tells him softly, “I don’t want him so far away from me.”

“Then where will you keep him?” Oberyn quirks an eyebrow at her, “You won’t be able to keep him in here for much longer.”

“Aegon the first kept Balarion the Black Dread in these crypts whenever he visited Torrhen Stark,” Sansa points out, “and Balarion was ten times bigger than Blackfyre.”

“That was before parts of the crypts caved in…and it was three hundred years ago, which means he probably had an alternate way of getting Balarion out of the crypt.”

“A cave then,” Sansa says, “There must have been a cave somewhere.”

“We could look for it,” Oberyn offers, not wanting to dishearten his beloved.

“Yes,” Sansa says, “I want it found and I want it rebuilt.”

Oberyn kisses her forehead lightly, patting Blackfyre’s shoulder as he does, “I’ll see it done my love.”

As he leaves he glances back at Sansa, the happy glimmer in her eye as she works with Blackfyre. Honestly he didn’t think they’d find anything. It’s been three hundred years, he seriously doubted that cave entrance wherever it was, still existed. They’d probably spend the next few months digging it out if anything. He turns to close the doors and notes Blackfyre’s gaze on him, emerald eyes glimmering in the torchlight as he watches Oberyn. It was almost as if he knew what was going on between Oberyn and Sansa, as if he _understood_. He quirks an eyebrow at the dragon, Sansa oblivious to the interaction between them.

He could have almost sworn that dragon knew what he was thinking.


	71. Chapter 71

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

Oberyn Sand, second of his name was born in the middle of an icy winter storm, the biggest the North had seen in years. He was the first son to be born to Oberyn Martell, and much to Ellaria’s pleasure Oberyn was excited by the news. Sansa was beside herself as well, cradling the tiny infant in her arms as she sings to him, a soft lullaby that her Mother once used to sing to her. Ellaria was exhausted and slept soundly in the bed behind Sansa as she paced the room, humming to the baby, rocking him in her arms. Oberyn was outside trying to help the men tie everything down and shut the gates. The storm was throwing snow and debris in every direction, and one could scarcely see their hand in front of their own faces out there.

When the wind blows the window on the far side of the room open, Sansa sets Oberyn down in his cradle and rushes to close it, fighting the bitter stinging wind as it billows in her face.

“This can’t go on,” Sansa murmurs more to herself then to anyone in particular. How long was this winter going to last? How long would they continue to survive it? Food was scarce now, even the bannermen had little left to live on. Most of her banners had gone home once Winterfell was settled, and the rest of the North was either on the alert for white walkers or bracing themselves at the Neck for war. Oberyn would be leaving soon to deal with the problem, much to both Ellaria and Sansa’s dismay. Sansa could not go out in that mess, Oberyn wouldn’t allow it. He never cared for her being in the middle of battle, not if he could help it. He would leave in a week’s time to deal with the banners waiting at the Neck for him, and Sansa silently wondered if her husband would ever return to them.

Behind her Oberyn the younger cries and she turns, soft and tender as she lifts him into her arms and hushes him softly. Something had to be done about the white walkers if Westeros were to survive the winter. These creatures though mysteriously vanished from the Northern lands were still out there somewhere. Standing by the window she stares down at the godswood, her mind drifting towards Bran and the children of the forest.

_A year and a day…not a day more…_

It’s been five months, the time was ticking away like sand in an hourglass, ticking away what time she had left with the people she loved. What lay beyond the wall for her, she didn’t know. She didn’t understand why she _had_ to be there, she didn’t understand anything Leaf ever told her. She hasn’t told Oberyn either, every time she tried the words would stick in her throat. He was under so much stress as it was, she didn’t want to worry him any more then he already was.

Blackfyre on the other hand was getting bigger, his head was scarcely scrapping the ceiling of the crypt now. She planned to take Blackfyre beyond the wall with her, and that would be protection enough. Jon won’t like it, and Oberyn will probably want to come with her.

Oberyn the younger squirms in her arms and she smiles down at him, catching his little hand in her own as his tiny fingers wrap around index finger. “Hush you,” she tells him gently, “You don’t want to wake your Mother.”

“His mother is already awake,” Ellaria says from the bed behind Sansa, “Bring him to me,” she says softly, “I think he may be hungry.”

Sansa steps closer, sliding the infant into Ellaria’s arms gently. “The wet nurse will be here when the storm calms.”

“Until then,” Ellaria smiles faintly at Sansa as she begins to feed her son.

“I’m going to check on Oberyn,” Sansa says as she leaves Ellaria to it.

* * *

 

Outside the storm is vicious, and Sansa stands in the open doorway squinting into the storm. Oberyn fights his way towards her, urging her back into the keep as she pulls the door shut behind him. Sansa smiles up at him, helping him dust the snow from his hair and clothes.

“I nearly froze my ba--…” Oberyn cuts off, noting the look on his face.

“Yes,” Sansa kisses the tip of his nose, “I get it.”

“We’ve gotten everything tied down,” he sighs, “How is Ellaria and Oberyn?”

“There fine,” Sansa reassures him gently, “There both fine.”

Helping him peel the wet outer layers of his clothes he yanks off the soft linen shirt underneath and stalks bare chested over to the hearth to lay it across the mantel to dry. “It feels like I’ll never be dry,” he says softly, “This winter is a foul one indeed.”

“I’m sorry,” Sansa says as she kisses him, “I know you suffer out here. It’s nothing like Dorne.”

“No,” he muses allowed, “I’m used to persistent heat and endless sand…and here I get persistent cold and endless snow.”

“and I’m grateful you’d suffer all that for me,” Sansa smiles at him as she brings him a hot bowl of soup, “Get warm and I’ll have a bath set up for you.”

He takes the bowl gratefully as Sansa sends for the servants to ready the copper tub in her private chambers. While they wait she warms her hands by the hearth, the silence between them heavy.

“Your very quiet lately,” he points out, “I notice you tend to count the months.”

“I’m…” Sansa says quietly, thoughtfully, “It’s nothing.”

“So,” Oberyn says as he sets the bowl aside, “What is it you worry about?”

“I’m not worrying about anything,” Sansa tells him even though she knows she’s lying.

“Liar,” he muses with a half-smile, “I can always tell when you’re lying to me. We’ve been married to long for you to hide things from me anymore.”

“I received a warning,” Sansa tells him quietly, “from Bran.”

“A warning?” Oberyn quirks his eyebrow.

“Yes,” Sansa admits softly, “He told me the children have a message for me. I have to go to the tree beyond the wall. _In a year and a day, not a day more_.”

“and how long do you have left?” Oberyn says, an edge of worry in his voice.

“seven months,” she says softly, “and I can’t be late or something terrible might happen.”

Oberyn is quiet for so long that Sansa has to turn and look at him. His expression is unreadable as he ponders her words. “These words are ominous,” he tells her softly, “and the children are _old_. They are not to be tested.”

“So you think I should go then?” Sansa asks, sitting down across from him, catching his hands in hers.

“I do,” he nods, “but I will go with you.”

Sansa nods, “I hoped you might,” she tells him softly, “I want to take Blackfyre too.”

“You want me on the back of another dragon?” He smirks at her, “You do remember how well that went last time don’t you?”

“It’ll be better this time,” Sansa reassures him, “I promise…I’ll train Blackfyre.”

“That dragon is reckless,” Oberyn muses as he watches her, “and I’ve yet to find any cave by the way.”

“I know,” Sansa sighs, “I don’t know what I’m going to do about him.”

“We can have something built,” Oberyn suggests, “another dragon pit perhaps.”

“Possibly,” Sansa nods, “it would be good to have…we could house Drogon and Rhaegal or even Viserion if anyone comes to visit.”

Oberyn nods, “I’ll consider the books and see what we can do.”

“I thought I was in charge of finances?” Sansa tilts her head to look at him.

“You are in charge of it all my love,” he smiles at her, “I only help where you need me to.”

* * *

 

“Ow!” Sansa winces when Oberyn the younger yanks on her long red hair, curling it in his little fingers.

“He’ll need another shirt too,” Ellaria says, ordering the servants around. She was moody today, Oberyn was leaving for the Neck. Sansa watches her pace, Oberyn the younger cradled in her arms.

“Ellaria,” Sansa says softly, “it’s only for a few months….it won’t be that long.”

“War is different,” Ellaria says softly, “I’ve seen Oberyn go off to war for what should have been a month and then he’ll come back in two years.”

Sansa sets Oberyn down to try and fit his little swaddling gown on him, the cold outside was bitter and if they were to see Oberyn off Sansa didn’t want Oberyn the younger getting sick. “Now stop that,” Sansa coos softly, “I know you hate it but it’s cold outside and I don’t want you to get sick.”

“He hates that thing,” Ellaria muses softly, “To much lace.”

“I like the lace,” Sansa tells her, “I think it makes him look adorable.”

Ellaria grins as she leans over to look at her son, playing with his little foot gently, “You don’t like the lace do you my love? You are a warrior like your Father.”

“Even warriors wear lace,” Sansa sniffs delicately as she scoops Oberyn the younger up into her arms, “We’d better get downstairs before Oberyn leaves.”

“Yes,” Ellaria agrees and snaps her fingers at the servants, urging them along to get Oberyn’s pack down to him.  The three of them make their way down into the courtyard, Sansa keeping near the doorway with Oberyn the younger in her arms. Ellaria takes him from her, carrying him over to his Father so that Oberyn can say goodbye. Sansa wishes him farewell as well, kissing him tenderly, burrowing her face against his neck. She was afraid he’d never come back, but thus was the trouble of war.

“Don’t cry,” he murmurs near Sansa’s ear softly, “I’ll be back.”

“I know,” Sansa says softly, “I’m just…I don’t know how I’m going to manage this without you.”

“You did very well for yourself before,” he chuckles lightly, “I think you are so much stronger then you believe yourself to be.”

“Stay safe,” Sansa murmurs against his neck, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he tells her gently as his other hand pulls Ellaria in for a hug as well, kissing them both tenderly, murmuring words of love between the three of them.

They watch him depart with the sunrise, Sansa and Ellaria are the last to go back inside. They wait until he can no longer be seen in the distance, all the banners and all the guards trailing along behind him in a march towards the Neck.

“Be safe my love,” Sansa whispers into the wind sadly and turns to go back inside, Ellaria waiting for her in the open doorway.

 


	72. Chapter 72

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Oberyn the Younger, POV**

 

In the history books, it would come to be known as the War of Ice and Fire. A long and tedious battle between the Westerosi people and the dragon lords against the ice people, the ones who came from beyond the Wall.  In my time, the Wall is no more. The brotherhood of the crow was dismantled with the destruction of the Wall, the day the seasons were released and the ice melted. My Lord Father, Prince Oberyn Martell was partially responsible for this, he helped his lady wife, Sansa Stark Martell accomplish this, but it was at such a very great cost.

I can barely remember her, Sansa Stark.

I remember hair like fire and a soft lulling voice singing me to sleep each night. I remember the smell of summer blossoms and winter roses. My mother tells me I was born during the worst storm the North has ever seen, and I endeavored each day to live up to that blessing.  She tells me stories of my Father, who was a great warrior. I can barely remember the sound of his voice, I was very young the day he left. I never understood what had happened to him, or why we had to leave Winterfell. Not till I was older and my Mother explained to me the truth. I had just thought that Father had gone away with Lady Sansa and that they’d be back one day.  Whenever I ask my Mother what happened to Lady Sansa however, all my Mother would tell me, all she ever tells me….is _she went home_.

So very little did I understand….so much I still don’t understand, and every time I try and find the answer all I get is more questions. What did my Mother mean by that? Where did Lady Sansa go? What part did my Father have in her disappearance? It was a mystery like the one surrounding Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, the one that people always whisper about but never really know the truth.

I suppose some truths are meant to be unknown.

 

* * *

 

 **Present Day** …

 

“I don’t know how much more we can take your highness,” Lord Tallhart tells Oberyn Martell, the consort to the wardeness.

“We have to hold them off,” Oberyn says wearily, blood trickling down his temple, his brow beaded with sweat. His armor was heavy and his shoulder ached from where he’d had to wretch a particularly nasty dagger from it.

“I need a new formation around the half bend,” Oberyn tells the gathering of men, “We will drive them back!” Oberyn snarls, fierce determination in his voice.

“My lord,” a maester approaches, a somber look on his face, “His grace the Prince is asking for you.”

“Tell him I’m on my way,” Oberyn says, the anger draining from his face to be replaced by dread. As he walks with the maester he looks at him worriedly, “Will he live?”

“There is no way to tell your highness,” the maester says wearily, “I’ve done everything I can for him.”

Inside a tent on the other side of camp, a tent flanked in red and black with a three headed dragon lies a man with silver hair, blood soaking the thigh of his breeches. “Will he lose the leg?” Oberyn asks, observing the particularly nasty gash in Aegon Targaryen’s thigh.

“Possibly,” the maester says, “I’m working to stop the bleeding still, I’ll need someone to hold him down while I cauterize the wound.”

“I’ll do it,” Oberyn says, using his good arm to press his weight down over Aegon’s chest, “Hold still,” he commands the younger man, a man with agony dancing in his eyes. “If he doesn’t cauterize the wound you will bleed to death.”

“Rhaegal,” Aegon chokes and then cries out as the maester presses a hot blade against the wound, his cries turning to screams.

“It is done,” the maester says as he begins his work of stitching the wound closed.

“Drink this,” Oberyn says and lets Aegon take a swig of dornish sour before taking the vial back from him, “not too much, the wine will thin your blood too much.”

“Rhaegal,” Aegon breaths again, fear in his eyes, “where’s Rhaegal?”

“Rhaegal,” Oberyn says, looking for a brief moment defeated, “Rhaegal has fallen.”

“He can’t have,” Aegon despairs, his beloved dragon dead wasn’t a thought he could handle.

“He fell from the sky,” Oberyn tells him, “I saw it myself. When you were thrown from his back he tried to protect you. That great miserable beast the Night King’s riding more than likely broke his neck. I’m sorry…” Oberyn says mournfully, looking down at Aegon’s despairing face, “I know you loved that dragon my nephew.”

Aegon was struggling not to cry, Oberyn could see it. To spare him the humiliation he turns away and pretends not to notice, “I’ll go and see if I can find you some food.” He was gone after that, walking through the campsite full of miserably cold people, shivering in the snow. Before, when they had Rhaegal he’d keep the camp fires lit and the wights away. The dead that the white walkers controlled feared the flames, and wouldn’t go anywhere near the camp with Rhaegal present.

The tables have turned now, however.

Dany and her dragon Drogon were their only hope now, Jon was busy at the wall holding off the hordes of dead that were overrunning the forested outcropping below the Wall, the gate was just barely holding them out.

“We’re going to die here,” one man says as Oberyn passes, a look of despair on his face.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Oberyn says darkly to him, “Hold your tongue. Don’t speak like that around the others, especially the younger boys. You’ll frighten them and we can’t afford to have deserters _now_. If your frightened that’s fine, but keep it to yourself.”

As he comes to sit near the dying flames of a camp fire Oberyn dwells on the death of Rhaegal. There was a chance, if by some miracle he were still alive. Nobody actually saw him die, nobody actually saw what _happened_ to the irritating emerald beast. Oberyn was too busy hauling his nephew off the battle field amidst the dead and dying, the white walkers with their shimmering indestructible swords and their icy glares.  The only thing that seemed to work against them as Jon Snow had instructed them was dragon glass and valerian steel. As the steel came in short supply they made as much dragon glass as they could and fashioned them into swords.

It’s been months now, and seven months was all he had. Sansa had warned him before he left, that she would go without him if she had to. He’s been gone three months, and four months was all that was left to him. He sighs and sips from the vial on his belt, the dornish sour dancing on his tongue. He longed for Sansa and Ellaria, for his son. He wanted to be home with them, not out on a blood soaked battle field fending off monsters. It was for them he fought, he fought to keep them safe against all the odds.  If they failed this battle, if they did not win this war, he feared what may become of his family back in Winterfell. Ellaria wouldn’t go down without a fight he knew that, she would fight them off until her last breath.  Sansa though delicate and lady like would do the same if backed into a corner.

Shaking those dark thoughts away he stands and tucks the vial back into his belt. He had work to do, and he needed to get back out onto the field. Dany was going to need them soon if they managed to get across the Neck.

 

* * *

 

In the icy corners of the North, Sansa Stark sits beneath a weirwood tree with an infant boy on her lap. He was three months old now, his dark eyes so much like Oberyn’s were gazing up at her with curiosity as she sings to him, Ellaria beside her on the log.

“He’ll be walking soon I think,” Ellaria muses with a smile, “I hope Oberyn will be here to see it.”

“I hope so too,” Sansa says softly, “I miss him.”

“As do I,” Ellaria says quietly, “but we cannot dwell on sad things.”

“FIRE!” a voice shouts from the keep.

Sansa jumps up, handing Oberyn over to Ellaria quickly, “Oh no…not again!”

“Be careful!” Ellaria shouts as Sansa runs, (with as much grace as she can muster of course) to the keep. When she gets there, she can already hear Blackfyre inside the crypt, throwing himself against the stone walls. Dany had written to her once about him, had warned Sansa to chain him. She had the same situation Sansa did back in Meereen, and if she did not chain him one day she was going to open that door and he was going to escape.

Dany did _not_ want another repeat of what happened with Drogon.

“Don’t open the doors!” Sansa shouts as she runs into the courtyard, the far wall ablaze. Blackfyre has recently discovered he can blast the stone doors open with dragon fire, and only because they’d barred them over did he not get out this time. Unfortunately, however, the fire seeped between the cracks and caught the far wall on fire.

“That blasted dragon!” the captain of her guard snarls as he and several other men throw pitchers of water on the blaze before them, “He’s going to burn the whole bloody keep down Lady Stark.”

That day have come unfortunately, the day she’d need to chain him. He escaped once before, and had to sit with an irate farmer from a northern town for an hour apologizing for the death of three goats, one sheep and a pen of chickens. How that man was even keeping them alive in this miserable cold, Sansa had no idea. It was the real fear that one day however, Blackfyre might end up killing _people_ that frightened her. Dany once told her a story of how Drogon in his bid to catch a goat, ended up killing a small child by mistake.

“He’s only an infant my lords,” Sansa says, trying to appease the angry men before her, “I do apologize truly. I will see to him now if you please. Understand he’s only just starting to learn to control his fire, he’s testing his boundaries.”

“ _Dracaren lis_ ,” Sansa says loudly, the rumbling in the crypt fading to a dull growl. It was the word in Valerian that literally meant _no fire_.

“Spoiled little beast,” Sansa teases him lightly, “You want out don’t you?”

The men in the yard grumble to themselves as they put out the flames and continue on with their work. When they’d gone, Sansa smiles faintly at the Emerald eye peering at her through the crack between the stone doors. “I know you see me,” she points out, “and I know you know better.” Deftly she unbars the door and pulls the doors open with the help of Blackfyre, determined to get out as he pushes his head against them from the inside. Out he comes and Sansa steps back quickly, his frame looming high over hers. He was as black as smoke streaked with silver, large emerald eyes glittering in the dim daylight. She steps around him, careful to duck beneath his tail as she grabs his bridle off of a hook and carries it out with her after him. He knows the routine, don’t eat anyone and don’t set anything on fire. They go together out beyond the gates and past the village, out into the open expanse of land around Winterfell each morning where they practice.

Sliding the loops of the bridle over his head, she straps them in place and then gathers the reigns, tossing them up onto his back.  Dragon’s had enormously powerful jaw strength so they could have no bar in their mouths for steering. Steering was determined by the distribution of weight alone, and the bridle was made to loop over his neck so that she could steer and turn at once. She found she preferred no saddle with him, and he didn’t like them anyways. She’s got him well practiced with the basics, the commands and the steering are learned but she has yet to put them into practice with him. She was still a bit leery about riding him, he was nearly tall enough to touch the top of the wide double doors of the keep’s gates. Yet just to be safe she wanted to wait a while longer, get him comfortable with the commands first.

“Now,” Sansa says slowly as he watches her curiously. They’d been practicing with her on his back for a few weeks now, and he was slowly getting accustomed to it. Deftly she slid up onto his shoulders and braced herself, the reigns in her hands. “ _Yura_ ,” she says in Valerian, the command for _forward_.

He tentatively steps forward, his wings working in unison with his legs as he goes. “ _Yura lis_.” He stops on command, and then she orders him forward again, steering him left and then right, turning in a circle before they continue on across the open land all the way to the tree line. In distance Sansa can hear the footfalls of a horse galloping across the land. Behind her she sees Arya on horseback riding towards her, and she calls out to her in warning, “Keep that horse back! He’s not trained with horses yet!”

It was a bit too late however, as Blackfyre had already seen Arya. He pulls against her control, yanking on the reigns as he tries to turn towards the horse. “ _Yura lis_ ,” Sansa commands him firmly, pulling back on the reigns.

“Ellaria says you’ve been out here for hours now and wants you back in the keep,” Arya calls to her, “She says lunch is ready.”

How long had she been out here anyways?

Steering him back she turns him towards the keep and Arya’s retreating form on horseback. Blackfyre however, has other plans. As soon as he thinks he can Sansa suddenly finds herself clinging to the reigns as his wings flap, pushing them up off the ground. “NO!” Sansa yells, “Not yet you silly beast, _not yet_!”

In hindsight she imagines Blackfyre probably regretted his decision. His distraction by the horse which clearly would mean _food_ to any dragon, should have been reconsidered. As he tried to take the air he found himself plummeting back down again, and then up once more only to go right back down again. Sansa meanwhile was clinging to his back as best she could, suddenly longing for that saddle she so profusely refused to put on him.

“STOP!” Sansa yells, “STOP!” Then after a moments pause, “ _YURA LIS_!”

Upon realizing his mistress’s distress, he halts so suddenly she’s nearly thrown forward off his back. Instead she slides down his neck and glares at him, stumbling as she climbs off his back…right into a mud pit.  “Blackfyre,” she glares at him angrily, “Damnit I told you to _stop_.”

Glaring down at the mud which sloshed at her calves and stained her dress she glared at the dragon and then stalked back to the keep, the scolded dragon in tow.

“What happened to _you_?” Arya blinks at her sister as Sansa and Blackfyre return.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she says irritably, Blackfyre easily sliding right back into the crypt without being told or guided. “Oh _now_ you want to be in the crypt.” Sansa glowers at the stone doors as she closes them and then turns on her sister, “ _You_ should have known better! He could have eaten you both!”

“Sorry,” Arya says sheepishly, “I mean…I thought it’d be alright if I stayed back.”

“Not it would not _bloody_ be alright!” Sansa all but shouts and then claps her hand over her mouth, blushing brightly. It wasn’t the most lady like thing she could have ever done, and Arya had provoked her into doing that in front of servants and guards alike. “Damnit Arya,” she scowls at her sister and then storms into the keep to change.

“Pissed off your sister again did you?” Gendry asks from somewhere behind Arya.

“When don’t I?” Arya sighs as she looks at him, “Oi, I thought you were making me a sword?”

“I am,” Gendry grins at her, “It’s not ready yet.”

“It’s been _months_ ,” Arya tells him pointedly.

“and it takes months for this kind of perfection,” Gendry shrugs with a grin.

“Right,” Arya rolls her eyes as she turns to go back into the keep.

“We’re still on for tonight yeah?” Gendry says as she walks off.

Arya smirks at him, rolling the idea around in her head, “Yeah,” she nods, “Just don’t let my sister find out.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: That chapter was so hard for me to write. I remember having to stop because it just made me emotional what with Rhaegal and all. The question of course remains, what happened to him? Then of course is the POV by Oberyn the younger, and everything he said. It was really meant to be sort of a flashback with that, like Oberyn the Younger was looking back on the days of the war and that was what he was thinking. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	73. Chapter 73

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

It was as far as the eye could see. The only thing Jon Snow could do was set the forest ablaze and give the white walkers a headache. Every time they got to close he’d set them ablaze again with Viserion’s fire until they finally gave up trying to charge the gates and changed tactics. Dany had sent him more men, enough to at least run a skeleton crew at each fort all the way down the wall. It wasn’t going to be enough though, and eventually at some point they were going to find a way through.

On several occasions already the white walkers tried to kill Viserion, spears and sharp looking rainbow colored blades flying through the air, strong enough to pierce Viserion’s thick scales.

“How many of those bloody things are there?” Shouts one of the guards as he helps another heft a barrel of tar over the side of the wall.

“No telling,” Jon says, his gaze on the blaze before him, "can’t be that many more of them though.”

“Jon,” another rushes up to him, “Jon you need to see this.”

He walks with the guard, a man called Jed and stands on the Wall’s edge. Down below amongst the wreckage and smoking corpses he spots what looked like a black furry lump on the ground.

“Jon,” Jed tells him, “Jon I think he’s _alive_.”

“He?” Jon quirks an eyebrow.

“That’s a man down there, saw him staggering away from the forest earlier. At first I thought he was a white walker or one of the dead and then I realized…he was _breathing_.”

“I’ll take a look,” Jon tells him and heads down for the gates. It’s not exactly an easy trip either, pushing through crowds of men carrying barrels of tar and anything flammable they can find. The only piece he gets is in the lift, where he can take a breath and settle his nerves. If he failed and the wall fell, Winterfell was in danger. It wouldn’t be the first settlement the white-walkers would hit but it would definitely be on the list. He needed to warn Sansa, just as soon as he dealt with whatever it was waiting outside the gates for him.

Down at the gates, he peers through the bars at that which lay sprawled out in the snow. A mop of dirty brown hair, caked with sweat and dirt and mud. He was bone thin and half dead, but somehow he managed to drag himself to the wall.  Then it clicked, and Jon realized who he was staring at.

“Uncle Benjen?” He breathes allowed, and then louder still, “ _Uncle Benjen_!”

“ _Don’t_ ,” some says sharply when Jon reaches for the lever to open the smaller door built into the gates, “It’s a trick.”

“I’m Lord Commander,” Jon points out, “and I decide what is safe and what isn’t.”

“ _Lord Commander_ ,” says the man who was most likely twice Jon’s age and had seen more battle then he had, “I’m telling you it’s a trick.”

Jon stares at the prone form of his Uncle and then at the elder man without saying a word. The wheels spinning in his head he says at last, “If he can make it to the gate we’ll pull him in.”

The elder man nods as Jon presses closer to the bars, calling to his Uncle. “Uncle you have to _try_ ,” Jon shouts to him, “I can’t open these gates and you know it. If you can hear me… _you have to get up_.”

His Uncle doesn’t move, and yet from where he stood Jon could see that he was breathing. In the distance he sees white walkers and knows that his Uncle’s time is short, “Uncle there coming…please get up… _please_ …” he calls to him, desperation coloring his voice.

Closer…closer…closer…

Panic starts to set in, his heart racing. They were going to murder his Uncle right in front of him. His Uncle Benjen had always understood him like no other had, he was the first to search for his Uncle, the first to suggest it. Jon knew he could never leave him to die like this….

“NO!” Shouts one of the guards as Jon darts out through the gate and across the snow. His Uncle was so close, so close…

“Close the gate!” Jon shouts at them, “Don’t let me in if they’re too close!”

Running, his legs burn and his lungs burn from the cold air. He stumbles to his knees beside his Uncle and hauls his weight up over one shoulder, lifting him with a slight grunt of exertion. Benjen Stark was worse than he thought, his Uncle’s breath rattled against his shoulder as Jon stumbled back towards the gate.  He was all dead weight on Jon’s shoulder, and Jon feared he would not make it. The men at the gate were shouting at him, pointing behind him and he dare not look. He knew they were behind him, mounted on horses long dead with their milk white faces and their icy blue eyes, Jon Snow knew fear in that very moment. He very nearly doesn’t make it, hurling his Uncle through the gate as he stumbles to his knees in the snow. Forcing himself back up again through the door of the gates after his Uncle’s prone form, they slam the gates shut just as the white-walker halts, staring at them with fire blue eyes.

Jon rolls onto his side to look at him, and he could swear the creature was _smiling_.

“He had you,” the elder man says as he looks at Jon, “That bloody thing _had you_. Why didn’t it kill you?”

“Just lucky I guess,” Jon lets out a relieved breath and collapses back on the floor, his gaze shifting to his unconscious Uncle. “Very…very _lucky_.”

 

* * *

 

The weeks were passing by faster than Sansa could count. For some unknown reason a feeling of dread blossomed in the pit of her stomach and ailed her every chore. She did everything she could to shake the feeling, but it just wouldn’t go away. She’s been having weird dreams too, dreams of _falling_. It was like every other dream she has, disorienting and confusing. It begins as it always does, the valerian sword Blackfyre upon the Iron Throne and then suddenly she is falling, falling through the sky.

Sky…ground…sky…ground…screaming…

Something shimmering above her head, something gold and silver and then suddenly _nothing_.

 

Every time she has that dream every fiber of her being wants to warn Dany. For some reason she felt like it was Dany who was falling, and it could possibly be her. Bizarre as it was, the sword gave her comfort as she fell, like it was the happiest thought she could muster as she fell. Like she was focusing on the good memories, the happy things in her life.

The dream started a week ago. It seemed rather persistent as far as dreams go, as if it were warning her about something. She’d counted out the days till she had to leave and came to the conclusion that Leaf wanted her at the tree on the evening of the winter solstice.  In Westeros it was the one night of the year that three different stars aligned together. The dragon, the maiden and the tree. People created all sorts of legends about those stars, and the weirwood tree originally earned its fame from the tree star which actually looked a little like a weirwood tree. Back in the old days the first men saw that star as a sign from the old gods, and some of their own beliefs of that star combined with those of the children created the belief of the old gods.

 

“Sansa?” Ellaria’s sleepy voice drifts behind her in the darkness of their bed chambers.

“I’m here,” Sansa says softly, quietly.

“The dream again my love?” Ellaria asks, rolling onto her side.

“Yes,” Sansa nods, “again.”

“This cannot be normal,” Ellaria tells her softly, “Do greenseers dream as you do often?”

“I don’t know,” Sansa admits, “I’ve never met another like me save for my brother Bran. I can’t ask him though, it takes to much energy and the white walkers are fogging everything down…the magic in the weirwood isn’t strong enough.”

  
“Tell me the dream again,” Ellaria asks of her. Ellaria likes to hear her dreams; she worries for Sansa and tries to ease the tension by having her talk about it. Sansa knows what Ellaria’s trying to do and sometimes it works, but sometimes…

“I’m frightened,” Sansa admits softly, “I’m so scared Ellaria….all the time. I feel like something is coming…something _bad_. I thought it was Rhaegar, I thought when Rhaegar was gone it would be over. It stopped…for so long it _just stopped_ , and I was _happy_. I don’t know why this feeling has started again.”

Ellaria listens but doesn’t comment, allowing the other girl to vent as Sansa continues, “I was falling….over and over…I see something falling above me, something gold and silver. Then I’m just falling…and I’m so sad and scared but I think of Blackfyre and it gives me strength…I don’t understand that part really.”

“Your dragon?” Ellaria asks, tilting her head to one side.

“No,” Sansa says softly, “The sword….the Targaryen one.”

“What do you think it means?” Ellaria asks as she sits up in bed, turning her head to the sound of Oberyn the younger’s gurgling in his crib. They moved his crib into their room to keep a better eye on him with all the storms. The sound of the wind howling in the eaves often frightens him and it was easier than running back and forth down the hall all night.

“I feel like it was Dany falling…or someone like Dany,” Sansa sighs as she rubs her face tiredly, “It was me falling but it wasn’t _me_.”

“You were seeing through someone else’s eyes?” Ellaria quirks an eyebrow, “Like warging?”

“Almost,” Sansa nods, “more like a memory…once when I was little I fell from a horse while Father was teaching me to ride for the first time. I dreamt of falling from that horse so many times after…” Sansa trails off, distant in her memories, “Mother was furious with Father.”

“You’ve never fallen from Viserion?” Ellaria questions, the wheels spinning in her mind.

“No,” Sansa says, “Neither Rhaegal or Blackfyre,” Sansa says softly, “Though Blackfyre can hardly get off the ground with me on his back as it is. He’s nearly there though, maybe another month.” Then as an afterthought, her mind drifting to a letter she’d read this morning from Oberyn, “Rhaegal is dead.”

The sharp intake of breath behind her acknowledges that Ellaria was thinking along the same lines of thought she was. “What will they do?” Ellaria asks softly, “Is the Prince alive?”

“He’s deathly ill,” Sansa says quietly, “blood poisoning.”

“And the Neck?” Ellaria says nervously.

“They’d had to pull back,” Sansa tells her softly, “They’re being overrun. Dany and Drogon are holding them off for now at the Twins.”

“Do you think the dream is about her failing?” Ellaria says wearily.

“Yes,” Sansa says without preamble. There was no point in lying to Ellaria, she wouldn’t want that anyways. It was clear as day the moment Oberyn left Winterfell that he may very well never come back. The ice people were winning the war; the people of Westeros were being overrun. Doran Martell has sent reinforcements but they have yet to arrive, and everyone from every kingdom is putting forth every able bodied man they can find, villagers and peasants alike were sent to battle. Even Sansa sent villagers from the surrounding countryside, telling them only as explanation that _this is their home as well and they will fight for it too_.

“Sansa you have to warn her,” Ellaria says worriedly, “Sansa is she fails…if they are without dragons…without _fire_ …. _Oberyn_ …”

“I _know_ ,” Sansa says a little too sharply, the muscles in her shoulders tense, “but I need to be certain. I don’t want to frighten Dany.”

She could leave now; she could run for the tree now. Maybe they would have answers? Maybe the children could help them? Maybe that’s why Leaf wanted her there to begin with. Why hadn’t she gone long ago? Back in the days when Bran first reached out to her, warned her to come to the tree.

“You’re going to leave,” Ellaria says softly, “aren’t you?”

“Not yet,” Sansa answers, unsurprised by the face that Ellaria knew. Oberyn wouldn’t keep it from her obviously, but Ellaria’s never brought it up to her before.

“Don’t you dare go alone,” Ellaria tells her firmly, “You promised to wait for Oberyn.”

“I _can’t_ ,” Sansa says desperately, the dam breaking within as tears start to prickle at her eyes, “What if I wait too long? What if I go now and I save hundreds… _thousands_ …what if the children know how to stop all of this? Besides….I never promised him that, I warned him. I warned him I would go without him if he isn’t back in time…I have no choice.”

“Then if he doesn’t make it back I’m going with you instead,” Ellaria tells her, dark eyes hard on Sansa’s face.

“No you’re not,” Sansa tells her, standing her ground, “You can’t leave Oberyn. He needs his Mother, and I need you here to sit on Arya so she won’t go chasing after me.”

The two women stare each other down until finally Ellaria cracks a smile, and Sansa giggles a little. Ellaria runs a hand through her hair and sighs, “Sansa if I tried to sit on your sister she’d probably bite me.”

“Probably,” Sansa smiles wryly at Ellaria and then climbs back into bed beside her. “I need Arya here…she is my heir if something happens to me. Somebody has to stay here with Rickon. If something happens to both of us then Rickon will have no one. I can’t bear the idea of Rickon being alone after everything he’s lost.”

 

* * *

 

“He’s got a temperature,” Says a woman’s soft voice from somewhere above him. Something warm and wet dabs along his forehead and face and he can’t help but feel relieved. His body has been so cold for so long, he thought he’d never know warmth again. Travelling with the Ice people, living within their dwellings has taught him the true meaning of cold.

“Water,” his voice is rough and unused, held by the magic of the witch for as long as he could remember. She fogged his mind and prevented him from running until the day _they_ came, the day they saved him.

“Uncle,” Jon’s voice, it sounds so much deeper then he remembers, so much older now. Water is pressed to his lips and he sips it gratefully, coughing as the cold touches the back of his throat.

“Uncle you need to rest,” Jon’s voice again as Benjen blurrily opens his eyes, his nephew slowly coming into focus.

“No,” Benjen Stark doesn’t want to rest, he’s done enough resting. “No Jon,” he says as she tries to sit up, his limbs still stiff from the cold. Pushing himself up against the backboard of the bed he leans against it, eyeing his nephew thoughtfully. He was in his twenties now that much was certain, his face scruffy with thick dark bristles, his dark hair still thick and curly as it hangs down in his eyes.  Jon was no longer a boy but a man grown.

He’s been gone too long.

“Uncle,” Jon starts again, sitting on the edge of the bed, “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Benjen chuckles darkly, leaning his head back on the backboard, “My head’s burning.”

“You have a temperature,” Osha tells him quietly.

Benjen Stark eyes her curiously before looking at his nephew, “A wildling?”

“It’s a long story,” Jon admits to him. His nephew looks him in the eye now too he notices, unashamed of his decisions, no longer indecisive about them anymore.

“A story I expect to hear,” Benjen tells him pointedly as he watches the wildling woman wearily. “Last I remember wildlings were supposed to stay on the _outside_ of the wall.”

“That was before the dead started murdering our families,” Osha counters easily.

“As I said,” Jon cuts in before his Uncle says anything, “It’s a long story Uncle.”

“What’s the Wall look like?” Benjen grunts as she swings his legs over the side of the bed, “How many men do we have?”

“Two thousand strong,” Jon answers, “I’ve spread them out between each fort.”

“Good man,” Benjen nods as he gets to his feet.

“Uncle,” Jon’s hand is placed gently on his chest, “Uncle you’ve a fever, you’re in no condition to get out of bed just yet.”

“We’ll I’m not lying here in bed waiting for them to kill me either,” Benjen points out, “I’d rather die with a sword in my hand if you don’t mind.”

“Uncle,” Jon tries but Benjen holds his hand up for silence.

“Where is the Lord Commander?” Benjen says as he starts for the armory.

“Dead,” Jon says, “I’m Lord Commander now.”

“ _You_?” Benjen stops, a smile curving his lips, “You really have grown up, haven’t you?”

“But I don’t want it,” Jon adds as they walk, “I’ve been considering giving it up anyways. The men don’t respect me…not after everything that’s happened. Uncle, if you want it, it’s yours.”

Benjen stops mid-stride, staring at his nephew, “Your giving me command?”

“I can’t be Lord Commander,” Jon tells him wearily, “I did some things….things the men feel aren’t right and I….it’s such a long story Uncle.

“Sometimes we all make mistakes Jon,” Benjen tells him, “but that doesn’t mean you…”

“I made a _big_ mistake Uncle,” Jon cuts him off quietly, “and I’ve no business being Lord Commander anymore.”

Benjen Stark is quiet for a long while. What did his nephew do that would incur such wrath from his fellow brothers? “What of your friends? Surely you’ve made some along the way.”

“They’re all dead,” Jon admits softly, “They fell in battle.”

“Jon,” Benjen says as he looks at his nephew, now definitely curious as to what Jon did, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Jon waves him off, “It was a while ago.”

“I’ll take it,” Benjen says as they enter the armory, Benjen grabbing for a sword and some armor, “if you’ll agree to be First Ranger.”

“Done,” Jon smiles faintly at his Uncle, “I’d rather be out there anyways.”

Benjen nods, “I’ll need a full account of everything we have,” he says as he starts to name off a list of things he needs from Jon, “and there’s something else.”

“What is it?” Jon asks as he and Benjen climb through the Nightfort until they reach the chambers reserved for the Lord Commander.

“They have a witch Jon,” Benjen tells him pointedly, “and she’s the key to putting a stop to all of this. She’s the one responsible for the dead coming back to life. We kill the witch; we destroy their armies in a single blow.”

“How do you know that?” Jon frowns at his Uncle.

“Believe me,” Benjen tells him, “I’ve met her. She’s not one you want to take for granted. She’s dangerous and she’s powerful. The Night’s King is her puppet, her lover. He puts on a show for the realm to see and she’s pulling the strings in the background. We take out the witch, we end the war.”

“Why did they let you go?” The thought occurs to Jon abruptly, and suspicion starts to set in. He’d been so happy to see his Uncle he couldn’t quite place why he’d just simply forgotten the circumstances.

Benjen pauses before looking at him, “That’s a long story.”

His words echo Jon’s, and Benjen’s wry smile makes Jon smile in return. “I see.”

“Long ago,” Benjen says as he begins to tell him the story of the children and how their blood protects the Stark’s from the wrath of the Ice people. By the end of the story things began to click into place in Jon’s mind, his memories of the battles he’d faced at Winterfell.

“So they let you go because the children found out you were being held captive?” Jon asks curiously.

“Yes,” Benjen nods, “and _yes_ before you ask…the children are real and very much _alive_.”

“So,” Jon pauses as he considers his Uncles words, “Can they help us?”

“No,” Benjen tells him, “Like I said…the treaty prevents it.”

“So if you and I get involved in this battle?” Jon quirks an eyebrow.

“Treaty goes both ways,” Benjen nods, “But they’re not going to start a war over one or two white walkers. We can’t get involved in the bigger messes but we can stand in the background and help.”

Jon rolls the idea around in his head, frowning the more he thinks on it, “Uncle…let’s just break the treaty. The children will have no choice but to help.”

“That,” Benjen says as he turns to look at his nephew, “is exactly why I should be Lord Commander and you First Ranger. It isn’t our right to end the treaty. That choice should be with the children alone. It would be wrong to force them into a war they want nothing to do with.”

“They _started_ it!” Jon snarls irritably, “They should help us end it!”

“They did not start it Jon,” Benjen counters, “The Ice people came here and tore up their homes and murdered their people just as the first men came and did the same to the children. The children want nothing more than to live in _peace_. It is _we_ who come and drive them into war and I shan’t be responsible for yet _another_ war on their hands.”

The two men stare at each other before Jon nods, “I’m sorry…your right.”

“See,” Benjen grins at his nephew, surprised by his relent, “You have grown up.”


	74. Chapter 74

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE CONTINUING: I just wanted to give everyone a fair warning, this chapter is very dark and contains character death. It's going into some seriously heavy things. The next few chapters are going to get seriously dark, but things will pick up again, and everything will lighten up again. I knew that Book 2 was going to be a bit darker, it's about war and death and what war does to people. I just wanted to warn everyone before reading that this is going to be kind of heavy.  
> Thanks!

The twins were burning.

Setting them on fire was the best plan Dany had at the moment, because the dead were afraid of the fire and the white walkers wouldn’t go near it. Above her the Night King circles overhead, and as she takes to the sky on Drogon’s back she would not fail. Yet the closer she gets, the farther he is away.

_He’s retreating…_

Something was wrong, she thinks as she watches him turn towards the North. _Something’s happening at the Wall_. Silently she hoped it was a good thing, she hoped that Jon was winning. The dragon he rides is twice as big as Drogon, and she knew she was no match for his speed. If she chased after him she would be leaving the armies at the Twin’s defenseless. If she didn’t chase after him Jon could be in very serious trouble. In the end she choose to stay and whispered a pray to the seven that Viserion and Jon could hold the Night King off.

“Your grace!” Oberyn is yelling below, waving towards something behind her.

The dead were wading through the Blackwater, fighting against the current to reach other side. Drogon drops a stream of fire down upon them all as men below throw barrels of oil into the water. The dark water below catches fire and the dead burn.

Where would they find drinking water now?

They’d done everything they can to hold off these evil things, but the dead are relentless. Their armies were half dead and risen again, joining with the white walkers below. All around her is smoke and flame, the countryside was _burning_. Riverrun’s gates were firmly shut but it wouldn’t be long until the dead reached them too. Below she could see Oberyn on horseback riding for the keep, no doubt to warn them.

They had to retreat.

Riverrun would have to be abandoned if any were to survive. Weighing on her heart was her nephew as well. The last of the Targaryen line, her only other living family aside from Jon. If Aegon died she couldn’t bear it, if Aegon died she didn’t know where she’d find the strength to keep going. She longed to be back at the Red Keep with him, where she ordered him to be taken to get him away from the front lines. Every second felt like an eternity as she waited to hear news of him but she couldn’t think on that right now.

“Retreat!” She shouts to the surviving men below, “Pull back!”

Riverrun below was being abandoned, the armies were pulling back. She lands nearby, sliding off Drogon’s back. She had to get a closer look; she had to understand this madness. She walks across the snow covered ground, the soil beneath her feet stained with blood and oil. Around her the dead burn and people flee, totally unaware of her presence. As she walks joy lifts her heart, in the distance she sees Greyworm.

“Greyworm,” Dany calls, rushing towards him, “We must pull ba---…” she trails off, horror seizing her heart. When he turns he is not Greyworm, he is one of _them_.

How will she explain this to Missandei?

This was her fault.

“No,” Dany shakes her head, fighting the tears that burn at her eyes. Unsheathing Dark Sister from her belt she knows what she must do, lifting the blade as she prepares to strike. Fire was the only thing that could truly stop him, but at the moment she was short on fire. Behind her Drogon stirs but she can’t bear the idea of burning her old friend. Greyworm swings his sword at her and she screams, blocking it with Dark Sister. Tears slide down her cheeks as she blocks another attack and another…and another…

Then he stops suddenly, and when she opens her eyes and looks at him properly there is a spear pressed through his middle. She screams again and staggers back as Oberyn comes into view, swinging Grey Worm around and tossing him into the flames of a burning tree nearby.

“ _Run_!” Oberyn shouts at her as he darts for his horse.

“Where are you going!?” Dany shouts as he goes.

He only stops to look at her and she knows. She knows he is leaving, she knows why. He told her months ago that he would have to leave, that he had no choice. She accepted that, and she nods in understanding. He nods in return and climbs onto his horse, darting across the snow covered battlefield and out of sight. Climbing back onto Drogon’s back he knows that this battle is lost, and takes to the sky. Turning for the Red Keep she seeks out her nephew, if she was going to die then she wanted to be with her family.

 

* * *

 

Sitting by the hearth in her bed chambers she watches Oberyn the Younger gurgle happily in her arms. Smiling she coos to him, kissing his forehead gently. Sometimes when he cries she can hush him with a song, but tonight when he began to cry all she had to do was hold him and it calmed him.  Time was slipping away so quickly now, two weeks and she would have to leave. Two weeks and she hasn’t seen Oberyn once, and she knew in her heart he wouldn’t be back in time. She’s been making her rounds every night, she sits with Rickon and they talk about Winterfell, she checks on Arya, her sister whose been running off with the Blacksmith to do only the seven knew _what_ exactly, with Ellaria whom she slept next to and laughed with, the woman who dried her tears and eased her fears. With Oberyn the Younger, the babe in her arms that would only smile when she sang to him.

It frustrated Ellaria too, that her son was so stubborn and greedy with his smiles.  There were so many other people she wanted to see before she left for the Wall. So many people she knew she’d never get to see before that day. Oberyn was the one person above them all that she wanted to see, the one she couldn’t bear to give up.

“Please my love,” Sansa murmurs as she stares into the flames of the hearth, “ _Please hurry_.”

 

* * *

 

Arya sat astride the back of her horse, watched Gendry catch up to her. He was out of breath and the cold outside stung both their cheeks. “You left without me.”

“I did,” Arya agrees, “I wanted to get out of the keep before Sansa realized we were gone.”

They’ve been sneaking out like this for weeks now; off and on they’d take off for the village in the middle of the night when everyone sleeps so they could spend some time together without people staring. Sansa’s been keeping a watchful eye on her even though she’s relented on her pursuit of forcing Arya into what she believes would be an _advantageous match_ , whatever that means…

“Are you sure about this?” Gendry asks as they ride down towards the village.

“I miss the old days when I could just go and sit in a pub and not get questioned,” Arya tells Gendry as they continue on, “Let’s just be one of the common folk tonight.”

“Alright,” Gendry tells her, “but you may want to wipe some dirt on your face…your to _clean_.”

Arya rolls her eyes but eventually takes his suggestion; she would actually stand out to much if she didn’t. When they find a pub of their choosing Gendry orders drinks and Arya finds them a table in the back. This was the life Arya preferred, the freedom to choose, the freedom to do as she pleased without anyone telling her she can’t. Arya wasn’t stupid though, she could see the tension in the people around her. The war is going poorly in the south, and there was a very real fear that the Wall would be breached. The pub was near empty, the barkeep had looked thrilled to see them.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this place so empty,” Gendry comments idly as they drink from glasses of ale. His eyes are on the barkeep’s daughter, a dark haired woman with bright brown eyes and a pretty smile. He smiles back at her, while Arya beside him, rolls her eyes.

“She’s only interested in your coin,” Arya points out.

“Good thing too,” Gendry tells her, “I’ve got plenty.”

“You’re here with me remember?” Arya points out.

“Yeah,” Gendry says, “but it doesn’t mean I can’t look,” Gendry says, “We’re just friends.”

“Yeah,” Arya agrees though she sounds unconvinced, “Friends.” Then as he turns she adds, “She’s not interested, you’re wasting your time Gendry.”

“I think she is,” Gendry grins at Arya.

“Bet you anything she’ll try and nick your purse,” Arya tells him, “These people aren’t making any money and that Barkeep’s watching you a bit too keenly.”

“Bollocks,” Gendry says yet as he watches her she seems to have taken interest in another man, another man with a much bigger gold purse. “Figures,” Gendry says with a flat expression and looks away.

“Told you,” Arya giggles a little and he elbows her playfully for her mirth.

“Westeros is being overrun by the dead and Ice people and everyone’s still worried about having gold in their purses,” Gendry says almost bitterly.

“Well you and I know the truth,” Arya tells him softly as she catches his gaze with a soft smile of her own, her heart fluttering a little faster when he smiles back, “Let’s make every moment we have left count.”

"The truth," Gendry smiles wanly, "I don't think you want to know the truth Arya."

"About?" Arya quirks an eyebrow at him.

"I'm not.....not who you think I am," Gendry admits softly, "I think if you knew who I really was you'd want me gone by morning."

"Why is that?" Arya asks, watching Gendry's gaze drift down to the mug in his hand.

"I can't tell you," he says and stands, stalking out of the pub cursing under his breath.

His mug was half empty so it clearly wasn't the ale that has him talking like this. Arya pays the barkeep and takes off after him, running up to the stables where he's readying his horse to leave. "Your just going to leave?" Arya says with a frown, "You tell me something like that and then you just run away?"

" _I'm not running away_ ," Gendry says pointedly, "I'm protecting you."

"From what?" Arya asks, "What exactly are you trying to protect me from?"

"The truth," Gendry tells her, "I should have never said anything, that was stupid of me."

"No your right," Arya says, "That was stupid, but you've said it and you can't unsay it so just _tell me_."

"I'm not..." Gendry sighs and scrubs at his hair in frustration, "I'm not just anyone's bastard....I didn't know it myself. That red witch found me and carted me off to Dragonstone and she....she told me things."

"Red witch?" Arya says, recognizing who he was speaking of. Arya's met that same witch before, the one who helped them with Jon years ago. "What did she tell you?"

"That I...." He hesitates as he looks around him, searching for anyone who might be listening in before he adds, "I'm Robert Baratheon's bastard son."

Arya just stares at him, blinking in the dim torch light of he stables, "But that means..."

"Yeah," Gendry says, "and keep your mouth shut about it. If word ever got back to the Queen...."

"I know," Arya says softly, "I know what she'd do."

"Good," Gendry says with a nod.

They both stand there for a moment longer before Arya says, "Let's get back."

"Yeah," Gendry nods, "We'd better had."

The ride back is silent and without laughter. The two of them are pondering things they shouldn't be, questioning things they never thought to question. Gendry was a Baratheon, which meant he was heir to Storm's End. If Dany ever found out he existed she may very well kill him. Then again....what if.....

Maybe.

Maybe Sansa would listen, Arya thinks to herself. Sansa was bossy and stubborn and responsible even at the worst of times, but she was also Arya's sister. Sansa wouldn't breath a word of it to Dany if Arya begged her not to. Then again Sansa might panic and send Gendry away, but that was better then turning Gendry over to the Queen. Glancing at Gendry she considers her options and then makes a decision. It was stupid and reckless but maybe Sansa could help.

Just maybe. 

 

 


	75. Chapter 75

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Another dark chapter, I'm kind of going a little GRRM within these next few chapters. I just want to give everyone a heads up.

The early morning dawn the eve before she leaves is clear and bright. She’s never seen a dawn like it in the winter, sitting atop a hillside under an old tree, watching the storm clouds retreat over the mountains. It’s the first time in months and months that Sansa has seen the bright blue sky or felt the warmth of the sun on her skin. She wipes the tears from her cheeks, the stress of the weeks have taken a toll on her. Her stomach rumbles but she gave up her own breakfast to a villager child whose mother had nothing to give her daughter. Her people were starving, even inside the walls of Winterfell they had very little left to eat. Ellaria was on edge, fearful she may not be able to feed her infant son. Sansa wants to send her back to Dorne, to get her away from this nightmare. Even if she had to take Ellaria there by dragon she would, whether Ellaria liked it or not.

Winterfell was beautiful in the morning light. She wanted to remember it just as it is now, worn but still standing. That is how Winterfell has always been, and hopefully that’s how Winterfell will always be. Sansa knew deep down she needed to leave, that she couldn’t wait any longer. Ellaria knew it too, as she was practically welded to Sansa’s side for the last week.

“Blackfyre!” Sansa calls aloud, turning her gaze to the sky. Above her he circles happily, stretching his wings as he climbs higher and higher into the sky. The young dragon circles back around, noting the call of his rider. He was an obedient dragon if not a bit wayward. Dragons are animals after all, and he was prone to moments of rebellion. However he seemed to understand that something serious was happening, something important. He lands, shaking the cold from his scales as he lowers his massive head to blink at Sansa. Unafraid she sits under the tree and looks at him, stretching her hand out to pet his muzzle gently. “My love we have to leave soon.”

He rumbles deep in his chest and glances back at Winterfell before turning in a circle and dropping to the ground, shifting his wings around his body to stay warm.  Sansa watches him curl up and smiles. He was such a lazy beast sometimes, he preferred to stay within the warmth of the crypt then go out into the cold morning air and practice. Sansa preferred to practice, once he was strong enough to carry her there was nothing short of a blizzard that could keep her from the skies. She made rounds on his back, scouring the countryside searching for any signs of white walkers or their armies. Occasionally she would check on the Wall as well, but nothing much has changed there.

It was always the same.

The battles, the yelling, the fire.

She once flew Blackfyre all the way to the very end of the Wall, all the way down to the narrow sea. Remarkable there were men there as well, and some of them saw her. No doubt Jon would hear about it, but he would sooth their fears easily. Being a dragon rider was a new kind of freedom Sansa wasn’t accustomed too, one she wish she’d had when she was twelve years old and accused of being a traitor, trapped in the court of the Lannisters.

If she’d only had Blackfyre then…

Snapping from her thoughts she gets to her feet and dusts the snow from her skirts. With Blackfyre in tow she walks back down the hill towards Winterfell, a certain kind of dread weighing on her heart. Oberyn hasn’t returned yet, and the time to leave was at hand. Knowing him however, he’d just take off after her and try to catch up.

“What news?” Sansa says as a messenger rides up, worn and tired and bitter cold. He dismounts his horse as Sansa pulls the soft leather gloves from her hands to take the letter that he brought her from his hands, paying him with gold coin in return. Upon reading the letter she all but collapses, fear flooding her veins. She’s on her feet in an instant as she runs for the keep, forgetting all mannerisms.

“Ellaria!” Sansa yells, “Arya!”

“What is it?” Arya’s head snaps up, in her arms is Oberyn the younger. It was a strange sight to see her little sister holding a baby, Ellaria hovering over her uttering light instruction occasionally.

“They’ve failed….by the seven they’ve failed.”

 

* * *

 

In the Red Keep the last Targaryen Queen sits beside her nephew’s prone form, his breathing steady but his skin flushed and pale.

“Don’t go,” Dany whispers softly to him, “Aegon…we need you here.”

It was selfish of her she knew it. Selfish to ask it of him but she couldn’t bear to lose him. He was the only family she had left aside from Jon, but Jon was far away on the Wall. Holding warm hand in her own she kisses his knuckles and allows the tears in her eyes to trickle down her face. Down the hall she can still hear Missandei cry, her best friend and the woman who fought for her with every last breath she had, the woman who she failed. Aegon stirs in his sleep restlessly but does not wake, and the maester returns to check on him.

“I cannot risk leeching any more blood your grace,” he tells her softly, “His blood will cleanse itself in time.”

“I understand,” Dany waves him off, “You may go.”

If he lived, Aegon would walk with a limp for the rest of his days. He may very well never be able to ride a dragon again either. Then again, Rhaegal was dead. She searched for her beloved child’s bones herself and found him upon the sand at a beach near the sea. With Drogon’s fire she gave her beloved child a Valerian funeral. Afterwards his bones were brought back to Kings Landing as the dragons that came before him had, and they would be polished and put on display like the others were. He would be remembered as a fierce and brave dragon, one who helped defend Westeros.

“Daenerys,” a voice sounds behind her, a man in the doorway she hasn’t seen in so very long. In truth he has no business speaking to her so plainly, but right now was not the time for formalities.

“Doran,” she answers, resorting to informalities as well.

“How is my nephew?” he questions, coming to sit beside her. He stares at his ailing nephew with a mixture of sorrow and despair.

“He’s dying,” Dany says, fighting the tears, “I can’t do _anything_ to save him…I don’t know what to do.”

“There is always a way out,” Doran offers gently, “Don’t give up.”

“I don’t see one,” Dany says in frustration, “I’ve tried _everything_.”

“Once,” Doran says as he watches the younger woman pace, “a very long time ago there came a man to Dorne who wanted to conquer us. When he came he came with dragon fire, and at first he tried to ask us peacefully to put down our swords and yield to him without violence.”

Dany laughs bitterly, “You’re going to give me a history lesson Doran? I _know_ what my great grandfather did.”

“And my great grandmother Meria Martell told him,” Doran continues as if he hadn’t heard Dany, “When he sent his sister wife Rhaenys Targaryen, that Dorne would not yield.” He pats the seat beside him and Dany sits again, frustrated and impatient but listening nonetheless. “He came again,” Doran says, “and he came with dragon fire this time, burning holds and castles yet we would not yield. You see…when Meria Martell caught wind that he was sending dragons to burn us she ordered every single hold and castle to abandon their homes and flee for the desert. So when Aegon the Conqueror came, there was nothing to Conquer. How can you conquer a kingdom with no people?”

Dany stares at him, unconvinced and impatient, “What are you getting at?”

“I’m saying,” Doran tells her, “How can these creatures conquer Westeros _if there is no one here to conquer_?”

“Are you saying that I should abandon Westeros?” Dany blinks at him, “Just….uproot thousands of people and flee?”

“Yes,” Doran tells her pointedly, “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“But they would be homeless,” Dany says profusely, “They’d have nowhere to go.”

“Better to be homeless and wandering then dead and enslaved to the very people who took your home from you in the first place.”

“But how…”Dany says, the wheels in her head spinning, “Just…where did the people of Dorne hide?”

“In a hold under the sand,” Doran shrugs, “Meria was creative. The people of Dorne are made up of the Rhoynar who came there centuries ago. We know what struggle is…we fought hard for our freedom when the Valerian’s tried to enslave us. Princess Nymeria set sail with the survivors of those wars and they sought for a new home…they found it in Dorne.”

“Boats…” Dany says, “Boats….”

Standing she begins to pace, pondering her next move before she calls one of her councilors, “I want every family in Westeros to abandon their homes, villages, _everyone_. Peasants and highborn alike this is an order to them all, take only what they can carry and leave the rest behind it will only slow them down. I want them on boats, any boat they can find and take it out to sea. We’ll all gather in the King’s Harbor. Write to the Greyjoys and tell them I want them to use every boat they have and fill it with as many people as they can and sail for King’s Harbor as well. Ask them to make rounds along the shore and raise the alarm in every village they can.”

“ _Every_ hold your grace?” The councilor blinks at her as if she’s gone mad.

“ _We’re leaving_ ,” Dany tells him pointedly, “I want every last man, woman and child in Westeros in a boat and out to sea as soon as possible.”

“We’re just going to abandon Westeros?” He says, eyes wide in alarm, “Your grace….we can’t just….we _can’t_!”

“We are _dying_ ,” Dany says, rounding on the councilor, “and we have no choice. I would rather the people of Westeros survive and find a new home then fight and die under the blades of these monsters. My people burned in the fires of the doom because they refused to yield and I shan’t watch that happen here as well.”

When the councilor leaves she summons the captain of her guard, Doran following the two of them down a long corridor towards the King’s Hall, “I have a plan…but I’ll need everyone to work together if we’re going to be convincing….”


	76. Chapter 76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

Jon Snow has seen it all.

He’s been from one end of the wall to the other, he’s fought white walkers and the dead, he’s fought wildlings and giants alike. Yet the day he receives a missive from Dany ordering them to open the gates and abandon the Wall, he very nearly started laughing.

“It’s a joke,” Jon says aloud, “it has to be.”

When he shows it to his Uncle, Benjen Stark takes one look at it and tosses it into the fire in the hearth behind him. “Our laws are not theirs, we stand alone. I’m not abandoning this Wall.”

“She’s fairly serious Uncle,” Jon says, “She thinks she can win if we do as she asks.”

“Then what?” Benjen counters, “Sail out onto the sea and go _where_ exactly? We have nowhere to go and this place…this is our _home_. You are forgetting Jon, if I order those gates open then every hold and ever castle _including_ Winterfell that lies beyond these walls would be in danger.”

“She’s issuing a realm wide command,” Jon tells him, “That _everyone_ abandons their keeps and run for the sea.”

“Jon,” Benjen stares at his nephew, “Look me in the eye and tell me truly, will Sansa abandon Winterfell?”

“If she thought it was for the good of her people,” Jon tells him, “If she saw that it was the only option, she would do it.”

“We’re not abandoning the Wall Jon,” Benjen says stubbornly, “its _madness_!”

“We leave the gates closed,” Jon tells him firmly, following his Uncle through the keep. For some reason he can’t shake the idea that Dany’s had, it echoes of the stories he learned as a child about the wars of conquest, “We leave in the night when it’s dark so they can’t see us. One by one so as not to raise alarm. Slowly one by one, we leave and we ride for Winterfell, we help the villages and the people evacuate. We all ride together as a group towards the sea together, towards White Harbor.”

“The blizzards and the cold will kill us,” Benjen tells him, “You and I both know the dangers of the North in the winter. Trying to move that many people all at once…”

“It’s a risk we’ll have to take,” Jon counters quickly, “Uncle _please_ …”

“Let me think on it,” Benjen says, holding his hand up to silence his nephew. “Go.”

Jon nods and leaves his Uncle to his thoughts, heading up to the top of the wall for guard duty.

* * *

 

The order for a mass exodus of Westeros was either considered madness or genius depending on which family you spoke to. Some obeyed without question and some stopped to question it entirely. For miles and miles one could spot a line of people walking along the roads, some through the wooded forests and rough countryside to avoid the white walkers and their armies, some over the mountain sides as they cross the plains for Dorne because they’d rather suffer the scorching desert then starve at sea. Some chose to remain and locked down their keeps, preparing for a siege.

Some, like Sansa Stark for instance, were weighing the possibilities.

“Arya I have to go,” Sansa tells her plainly as she readies Blackfyre.

“You can’t leave,” Arya tells her firmly, “we have to evacuate everyone and you can’t go….your _wardenness of the north_!”

“No,” Sansa sighs heavily, leaning her head against Blackfyre’s wing, “That’s your job now.”

“What?” Arya all but shouts, horror etched across her face, “ _No_!”

“Arya listen to me,” Sansa says so sharply that her younger sister falls silent, “Arya I _have_ to go. If I don’t go something terrible will happen. I don’t know what but I feel it,” Sansa tells her firmly as she presses her fingers over her heart, “Right here….here is what tells me that somethings not right and going to the Tree, finding Bran is the right thing to do. It will help us…I know it.”

“And if you _do_ go something terrible will happen anyways,” Arya argues, “I can’t be Regent!”

“I’ll come back,” Sansa tells her though she isn’t entirely sure if she’s being honest right then, “I’ll catch up with the rest of you by the coast. I’ve got a dragon remember? I’ve already given the orders for the evacuations. All I need you to do is lead them to White Harbor. I _need_ you to protect Ellaria and Oberyn for me, can you do that?”

“Yes,” Arya says hesitantly, watching her sister pull on her riding gear and thick dark leather fur lined overcoat. Her sister’s hair was braided in a Northern style; it made her look like a wildling. She’s never seen Sansa look so different before, her sister has always been seen in dresses and shimmering gowns, not breeches and brown leather. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

“I promise,” Sansa says softly, touching Arya’s cheek, “I’ll do my best to come back.”

“Sansa,” Arya watches her sister nervously, “Sansa there’s something else.”

“What is it?” Sansa asks as she and Blackfyre walk beyond the gates of Winterfell, Arya in tow.

“It’s about Gendry…I’ve been meaning to tell you,” she says softly, “Gendry told me something you should probably know.”

“Like what?” Sansa asks, stopping to look at her sister.

“Gendry is a Baratheon,” Arya says tentatively, “Robert Baratheon’s bastard son.”

When Sansa says nothing Arya risks a glance at her and finds her sister expressionless for a pause before Sansa finally speaks up, “Arya…promise me you will never speak of word of that to anyone _ever_. His life is on the line Arya…nobody can ever know.”

“I thought maybe you could help him,” Arya says quietly, “Seeing as your wardeness.”

“Only the Queen can legalize him,” Sansa says softly, “and I doubt Dany will do that.”

“You could ask…” Arya replies.

“I could,” Sansa says, “But I could also be risking his life doing so. What if Dany demands his head? What then? As wardeness I’m obligated by duty and loyalty to obey. I’d be forced to kill your lover.”

“He’s not my _lover_ ,” Arya blurts out quickly, blushing brightly, “We’re just friends.”

“Regardless,” Sansa says, “Walk away from these ideas of yours and save his life.”

Arya says nothing and Sansa steps forward, kissing her forehead as Ellaria walks out with Oberyn in her arms. In turn she kisses them both as well, Sansa wiping the tears from her cheeks. “I will miss you all so much,” she tells Ellaria and Arya and then to Oberyn, “Be good to your Mother…obey her and do as you’re told…I’ll see you soon my little love.”

“Be careful,” Ellaria murmurs softly, pressing a soft kiss to Sansa’s forehead.

“You too,” Sansa tells her, “and help Arya…she’s not built to be Regent but I think she can do it…she just needs to believe in herself a little more.”

“ _Sansa_!” Rickon is shouting as he comes darting from the keep, “Sansa don’t go!”

“I’ve got to,” Sansa says, hugging her little brother and kissing his forehead, “I’ll be back soon Rickon. I need you to help Arya lead these people to White Harbor for me.”

“Please don’t go,” Rickon frowns up at his sister worriedly.

“I have to go Rickon,” Sansa sighs softly, “I’ll be back soon. I need you to be good for your sister and do as you’re told.”

“Yes Sansa,” Rickon grumbles, his expression a mixture of defiance and acceptance.

Sansa turns for Blackfyre, deftly climbing up onto his back and taking the reins in one hand as she looks back at her family, “I love you all…be good and be safe. I’ll see you all at White Harbor. Arya remember what I told you!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Arya smiles wanly at her sister, “I’ll give it a shot.”

“Give it everything you’ve got little sister,” Sansa tells her pointedly and then to everyone, “Be safe, I love you.”

Then her family watched as she turned Blackfyre towards the horizon and the two took off into the twilight sky, disappearing into the night towards the Wall.

Sansa was gone.


	77. Chapter 77

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

When Oberyn Martell reached Winterfell, he knew the evacuations had already begun. He’d damn near killed his horse trying to get here and it was already clear that Sansa was gone.

“Ellaria!” His voice echoes in the abandoned keep of Winterfell.

“Oberyn?” Ellaria appears overhead, leaning out one of the windows, “Thank the seven!”

Moments later his arms are full with both his paramour and their son to which he kisses both soundly, happy tears shimmering in Ellaria’s eyes. “I thought the worst…thank the seven you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” Oberyn reassures her softly, “Where is Sansa?”

“Gone,” Ellaria tells him as he steps away from her embrace and starts to strip out of his riding clothes and change into fresh ones. “She left last night. Most of the evacuations are done but I stayed behind with a few guards to wait for you.”

“You knew I’d come,” Oberyn smiles faintly at his lover.

“I did,” Ellaria nods, “You always do.”

Something about her words tips the scales and he embraces her, a loving kiss full of passion blossoms between them. Then he steps away, his fingers sliding over her cheek softly, “You and I have been through so much over the years haven’t we?”

“Yes,” Ellaria smiles as she watches him change clothes and then pick up their son, humming to him softly.

“Ellaria you know I have to go,” Oberyn says after a pause.

“I know,” Ellaria smiles wanly at him, “and my heart dreads it but Sansa is in danger.”

“I know,” Oberyn agrees as his son, his firstborn boy drifts to sleep against him. He smiles, the smile of a new Father and gently sets him down in his crib. “Ellaria I want you to leave this place with our boy and catch up with the others…I want you to leave tonight. Don’t wait till dawn…I want you on a ship back to Dorne as soon as possible.”

“This idea of Daenerys’s…” Ellaria says as she watches him pack, “It is very familiar.”

“My brother’s suggestion no doubt,” Oberyn muses aloud, “Meria Martell tried this long ago with the Conqueror.”

“Do you think it will work?” Ellaria asks, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Possibly,” Oberyn says, “but Westeros is twice the size of Dorne…thousands of people will be without food or shelter.”

“Then let us hope they’ll give up and leave,” Ellaria smiles faintly at Oberyn and he returns it.

In the early morning dawn the two part ways. Ellaria leaves on horseback with their infant son strapped to her chest surrounded by guards and Oberyn turns towards the wall in the opposite direction. They bid each other goodbye with passionate kisses and declarations of love as was their tradition. Yet as Ellaria watched her beloved ride away from her down a different path, she couldn’t help but feel like their paths would not cross again this time.

As the morning sunlight catches the metal of his armor she watches him without blinking, burning his image into her memory and holding him in her heart forever until he disappears beyond the tree line. “Goodbye my beloved,” she whisper softly, “Be safe.”

 

* * *

 

She’d made it beyond the wall in record timing. She chose to leave in the night specifically because nobody would see her flying overhead. Yet even as she crossed she could hear Viserion howl, and knew that the dragon had sensed Blackfyre.

That damn dragon was a nuisance.

Below her she could see the dead burning on the snow below and at the hill top were the white-walkers on horseback. For some bizarre reason she had a feeling they _could_ see her even in the darkness of the sky above, as they turned their gazes upward when she passed over.

She sails along for a while, for hours it seemed until her eyes grew heavy and the bitter cold wind made her want to sleep. She knew it was time to land by then, that she needed to warm up or she was going to end up with hyperthermia.

She lands and takes shelter beneath the trees below, breaking off branches and kindling to make a fire. Uttering the word _heat_ in Valerian Blackfyre easily lights it for her, and afterwards the two enjoy it’s warmth. Her heart was so heavy she was near tears as she sits alone in the fading light of the afternoon. How she longed for Oberyn to be with her, and feared the worst. She waited as long as she could, but it became clear he wasn’t coming.

Unbidden the tears streaked down her cheeks and she scrubs at them furiously. She was exhausted and heartsick, all she wanted to do was lay down and sleep. It’s been a while since she’d slept soundly, not with the dreams and the stress. Blackfyre stirs beside her; he was so warm that he kept the chill from her bones regardless of the icy breeze around them. Another thing that put her on edge were the white-walkers, because this was their territory and they could be _anywhere_.

What she wouldn’t give for a roof over her head right now.

 

* * *

 

“Uncle….the rest of Westeros is leaving,” Jon argues pointedly, “There’s no one left to _defend_. Doesn’t that make our vows void?”

Benjen considers his nephew for a moment before sighing, “I suppose your right.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Jon lets out a breath of relief, “Finally.”

“Jon I want you to send word to every fort that were….” Benjen Stark makes a face at these next words but utters them regardless, “That we’re leaving…and they will abandon the wall and make for the sea. The rest of Westeros will need our protection now, and they’ll help the common folk and highborn alike get to the ships at White Harbor. I hear the Greyjoys are boarding people, as many as they can carry by order of the Queen.”

“I bet Asha Greyjoy is loving that,” Jon muses aloud.

“I imagine she probably hates it Jon,” Benjen tells her, “Just like everyone else in Westeros. Heartbroken and devastated….there homes are being abandoned. Did you know, Winterfell has been in our family for over seven hundred years? So much history…and we’re just abandoning it.”

Jon nods, pondering his Uncle’s words. It was a heavy thing to accept, the idea that every highborn family with roots going back centuries would have to just give it all up and flee. This wasn’t a war anymore…it was upheaval. No more Westrosi politics, no more tourneys or parties or pretty gowns. No more Kings and Queens and political games, no more wars, no more arranged marriages…it was all gone. Everyone was equal now; nobody’s head was higher than anyone else’s anymore.

“It’s almost brilliant though isn’t it,” Jon laughs bitterly, “Nobody’s more important than anyone else…bastards and trueborn children alike are all the same now.”

“Jon,” Benjen says tentatively, “Don’t be sore…”

“I’m not sore,” Jon says softly, “You know I’m not baseborn, I told you the story the other night. I’m a prince if were splitting hairs here Uncle. It’s just…. _finally_ without all the politics people are just _people_. There’s no difference between trueborn and bastard now.”

“Lord Commander!” A young boy named Willem runs up, “Lord Commander!”

“Yes,” Benjen glances at him, “Spit it out boy.”

“My lord….there was a dragon seen flying overhead not more than a few hours ago, black as pitch it was but I the boys up top just barely made it  out. Do you suppose it was Queen Daenerys?”

“Why are you just telling me this now?” Benjen growls in frustration as he and Jon look at the younger boy, “and no it couldn’t be…Queen Daenerys would be at the Kings Harbor right about now.”

“ _Sansa_ ,” Jon breaths in alarm, “It was Sansa!”

“What?” Benjen seems to freeze up as if recalling something important, “Wait…your sister has a dragon?”

“Yes,” Jon says and then frowns at the look of panic on his Uncle’s face, “Uncle what is it?”

“That’s who she was talking about,” Benjen Stark says in alarm, “Jon…you have to find her _right now_! They’re going to _kill_ her Jon!”

“Who?” Jon’s already running without even hearing the answer, Benjen Stark hot on his heels as they rush for the stables. Already Jon can hear Viserion, restless and impatient.

“The witch, she spoke of a red haired woman with a dragon but I didn’t know what he was talking about at first. I kept thinking all the Targaryen’s have _silver_ hair…how could anyone with red hair have one, it didn’t make any sense…thought she’d made a mistake.”

“ _Why_ are they going to kill her Uncle?” Jon asks quickly as she scrambles to get Viserion ready.

“I don’t know,” Benjen admits, “They just seemed fairly keen on getting rid of her, like she was a threat to them.”

“I’m going to find her,” Jon tells Benjen, “get everyone out of here Uncle, when I find her I’ll catch up to you all.”

“Not without me you won’t,” Oberyn’s voice sounds from the stable doors. He’s out of breath and through windswept but Jon can see Oberyn Martell was serious.

“Oberyn,” Jon says quickly as he leads Viserion out of the stables, “Why aren’t you with Sansa?”

“She left without me,” Oberyn tells him quickly, “Your sister is mad, did you know?”

“No,” Jon smiles wryly, “Not at all, climb on.”


	78. Chapter 78

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So this chapter is a little more light hearted and kind of fun. Kind of like the calm before the storm which is the next chapter. Enjoy!

Sansa Stark was hopelessly, ridiculously lost. It was downright embarrassing as she circles overhead for hours, stopping at every weirwood tree for miles.

“You’d think they’d leave me a bloody map or something,” Sansa grouses aloud, uncaring of her language because honestly there wasn’t anyone to listen to her just then save for Blackfyre. Up above her in the dim gray sky she could tell that it was nearly noon, and she needed to find the tree before sunset. Tomorrow was the winter solstice, and Sansa was fairly certain that specific day was important somehow in the scheme of things.

Dropping to the ground she tries once more, trudging her way through the snow drifts up to yet another weirwood tree. Sliding her pale fingers along the smooth surface of the trunk she listens for it, the hum of power so recognizable by any who knew the power of the children, the very same energy that flowed beneath the ground of High Heart. It was faint but it was there, and this was the sign Sansa was looking for. The stronger the energy the closer she must be getting, as the weirwood in her dreams was the biggest she’d ever seen, it made all the others look like saplings. Dropping to her knees she digs into the snow, seeking out the rich soil beneath. Burrowing her fingers into the dark earth she closes her eyes, seeking the magic embedded in the ground.

It wasn’t something she’d ever really tried before, but if her blood was that of the children’s, then surely that meant she could harness their magic as well.

_Bran…_

Her words are whispered into the earth, whispered into the magic of the tree. For a few seconds she waits until finally…

_Sansa!_

Smiling Sansa responds, “ _Bran where are you? I’m lost.”_

_I can feel you Sansa…your close…follow the magic up the hill…follow the sun north, use it to guide you. You’ll find the tree atop a hill._

_Sun_ , Sansa thinks despairingly as she gazes up, _what sun?_ There was only one day out of the many months that the sun came out and she felt its warmth.

_Bran, the sun isn’t even out right now._

Bran’s voice, serene and happy replies just as quickly, “ _Hang on…just watch the sky_.”

Sansa turns her gaze upward and waits…and waits….and waits.

When nothing happens she begins to despair again, when suddenly she notes the haze above her beginning to part. This was as good a sign as any Sansa thinks to herself as she climbs back onto Blackfyre and takes to the sky above. Shivering, cold and wet Sansa clings to Blackfyre and hangs on with numb fingers as they follow the sun north, her eyes shifting over the countryside in search of the tree she sought. She begins to hum as she goes a soft lullaby her Mother used to hum to her as a babe. It’s a comforting tune, it gives her strength. She was so tired of the cold, so tired of running and fighting and worrying all the time. Her song is carried on the wind, like a lullaby for the world to hear, like the land itself could hear her voice and felt a calm settle upon it like it hasn’t felt in centuries.

Down below she spies the tree, the very one she seeks. Oddly enough she sees a girl beneath it, not Leaf but another, one of Holland Reed’s children. Below her Meera Reed waves and waves, and Sansa drops from the sky, circling the tree before touching down on the ground, sending snow and dirt in every direction. Sliding off Blackfyre’s back she hushes him gently, the magic in the earth unsettling him.

“Your Bran’s sister,” Meera Reed declares as she climbs the hill to greet Sansa.

“I am,” Sansa tilts her chin up, uncertain of how to handle the Reed girl in any way other than an acquaintance. Politely she asks, “Is Bran here?”

“He’s just below,” Meera tells her as Sansa follows her carefully down the hillside where below she sees a round opening dug into the earth.  “Mind the warding spell,” Meera cautions her as she steps through, followed by Sansa.  The moment she steps through the ward she feels a funny tingling sensation sweep over her, and gasping her hand shoots out and braces her against the dirt wall.

“Don’t worry,” Meera tells her, “Happens to all of us. The ward was testing your bloodline…if you weren’t one of us it’d thrown you out on your bum.”

“I see,” Sansa blinks, overlooking Meera’s harsh mannerisms.

“My family has the children’s blood too,” Meera explains, “So do some of the other Northern families but none like ours.”

The walk into the darkness of dirt tunnels, past outcroppings of tree roots and assorted plants. Pushing past them all she finds Bran at the end of one of them, seated before an elderly man who was twisted up into the very roots himself.

“I….” Sansa can only stare; the roots were a part of his very being, connected to the tree like an extension of it.

“Sansa,” Bran smiles up at his sister, “It’s about time.”

“I got a bit lost,” Sansa admits sheepishly, “I’m sorry.”

It was nice to see her brother again, as she drops down onto the dirt floor beside him, talking of the things they’ve seen and done. Leaf shows up eventually, and Sansa quirks an eyebrow at her, her skin was tinted green and her eyes were bright gold, showing brilliantly in the dim light beneath the tree. Only the light from the world outside gave them enough to see.

“The sun is setting,” Leaf says, “We must go below.”

“Below?” Sansa looks at Bran curiously.

“It gets cold up here,” Bran tells her, “Better and safer to stay farther below the tree. Brynden will be fine though,” Bran tells her as he glances back at the elderly man behind him. “The white walkers won’t bother him, they’re not that stupid. They try and avoid the trees usually, but with you here they might be curious.”

“The white walkers,” Sansa asks Leaf, “Who are they? You told me once they were people of the Ice…but where did they come from?”

“That’s a story for later,” Leaf tells her pointedly, “Come…we must go.”

 

* * *

 

Far below the great weirwood tree Sansa Stark sat curled near a fire in the center of a cavernous room. In it grew every kind of flora imaginable, some were flowers that hadn’t grown in Westeros since the time of the First Men, some were flowers most would consider weeds and yet they were beautiful. Around her, crowded close beside her and above her on dirt overhangs, were the children. Sansa dare not blink save not to miss every sight, to drink in every flower and every plant. These were the last of the children, and there were _hundreds_.  They were passing around a wooden bowl filled with what she thought might just be pill bugs, something Sansa Stark passed on politely with a smile,  to the child sitting beside her.

Bran sat on her other side, and she suppressed the grimace of disgust when he gladly takes a handful from the bowl and then passes it on as well.

“They’re not bad Sansa,” he tells her, “They look worse than they taste. They’re even cooked.”

“I’m not hungry,” Sansa lies with a smile on her face, unable to stomach the idea of eating _bugs_. She was fairly certain she’d seen another bowl with leaves…lettuce? How could she be certain? Nothing was certain down here, the tunnels moved with magic and the children ran up and down through them, laughter and smiles and warmth. They were of all shapes and sizes, some were as green as summer grass with wide gold eyes kissed with silver, and some were shirtless and wore pants made of fur and leather sewn together. Bran was dressed like them though he wore a leather vest instead of going shirtless.

“You like it here?” Sansa asks him softly.

“I love it,” he smiles at her, “It’s wonderful.”

“The food is… _different_ ,” Sansa observes as another plate comes around but this time it’s something recognizable. Her stomach growling she gives in, snatching a piece of what she thinks might just be bread off the plate before passing it on.

“That’s good too,” Bran says, “Just don’t ask what it’s made of.”

Sansa shoots him a withering look, one that he could easily read as _why would you tell me that?_ Before tentatively taking a bite. It’s warm and chewy and there’s some kind of meat on the inside.

_Please don’t be bugs…please don’t be bugs…_

She wasn’t about to even look at what she was eating and averts her gaze, choosing to watch the others in the room. Whatever she was eating didn’t taste bad, and it soothed the ache in her stomach for food.

“You could stay here you know,” Bran tells her as he watches her eat, “Anyone with the children’s blood can stay here. We’d be free of the white walkers, they won’t bother us here.”

“You know I can’t do that Bran,” Sansa says softly though she notes that for some odd reason her brother can’t seem to look her in the eye. Oddly enough, she also notices Leaf’s eyes upon him as he speaks to her, as if the child were marking his words.

“It wasn’t always like this,” Bran tells her softly, “Once…long ago the children had whole cities underground, they lived above ground too before the First Men came.”

“Were the Ice people driven away by the First Men as well?” Sansa asks softly, much to her regret. It seemed as if the whole room heard her and suddenly fell silent, all eyes were turned in her direction.

“Did I say something wrong?” Sansa asks Bran softly, suddenly nervous.

“We don’t talk about them,” Bran says quietly, “It’s kind of a sore subject.”

“I see,” Sansa says as the plate with the bread comes around once more and she snatches another slice off of it. Bran tries to hide his smile from her as she eats, amused by his sister’s sudden relent with her aversion to the food.  They pass around something honey tasting too, sweet like nectar. Bran tells her it’s just water flavored with honey and warmed, and grateful Sansa drinks some of that too.

She could easily stay here with him.

She could just forget the world outside and live with the children, but her family was still out there. Oberyn was still out there, and she couldn’t just abandon them all. Yet this place warmed her numb limbs and filled her with a funny sort of energy, a weird buzzing sound like lightening was crackling in the back of her mind. The heat of the fire warmed her face and hands, and before she knew it she was yanking off her boots to warm her toes as well. Nobody seemed to mind here, nobody held the same beliefs that the people of Westeros did. Nobody cared that she showed her ankles as she rolled off her stockings (Much to Bran’s amusement and horror) and warmed her sore and numb feet and calves.

What she wouldn’t give for a hot bath right now…

When she was full and suddenly very sleepy, she pulls her cloak tighter around her body, burrowing down into the warm fur and leaning against her brother’s shoulder. He smiles, his back pressed against the dirt wall behind him. Careful not to hurt him, Sansa and her brother press closer for warmth as the children around them slowly disappear one by one, retreating to the warmth of their own beds for the night. Above her head Sansa can hear Blackfyre every now and then, and when she looks to Leaf with worried look etched on her face Leaf only says, “My people tend to him, they keep him company.”

“The children are good with animals,” Bran explains to Sansa when she doesn’t seem to understand.

“Oh,” Sansa nods, rubbing her eyes sleepily, “I’m so _tired_.”

Eventually Bran led Sansa to his own alcove, carried by Hodor. Once Hodor had gently placed Bran inside the alcove he pulls himself further in and then motions for Sansa to lay beside him. Tentatively she does so, climbing onto a bed of fern leaves and fur.

It was the most glorious bed in the _Westeros_ ….

Anything at this point would have been wonderful though. Sansa was exhausted and yet a question kept coming to mind. She shifts onto her side to look at her brother beside her, watching him watch her. “Bran, is there a way to stop the white walkers?”

Bran smiles wanly before he answers, “There is…the key of seasons will be there undoing, or so Leaf says.”

“The key of seasons?” Sansa asks, curling one arm under her head, “what’s that?”

“It’s difficult to explain,” Bran said softly, “Did Leaf tell you how the treaty began?”

“Yes,” Sansa tells him, “Does the key have something to do with that?”

“No,” Bran replies, “the key was created before the war.”

“What happened?” Sansa asks curiously.

“Once,” Bran tells her, “before the war the Ice people were a peaceful people. They lived farthest to the North near the sea. They were happy there but they had no food and so they travelled farther out, until one day they came upon the children in these lands before it was called Westeros, before the Wall was built. You see, the lands beyond the wall used to be green and growing, but when the Ice people came the children decided to give them those lands, and created the key to hold the weather in place so that the lands would remain forever frozen. The Ice people can’t tolerate the heat of the other seasons; winter was there domain as the forest belongs to the children.”

“So in a way there kind of like the children…ancient and full of magic, but they weave magic with Ice and snow.”

Bran nods, “Exactly. Elementals as Leaf calls them.”

“So how’s the key going to help?” Sansa asks, watching her brother.

“After the children gave them the lands beyond the wall, the Ice people were peaceful for a time. They had all they needed, and wanted no more. Until the day the witch came from across the narrow sea, from the lands of Old Valeryia. She taught them greed and twisted their minds, made them want more…she made them a conquering people as her people were before her. That’s when the war started between the children of the forest and those of the Ice. When the war ended and the treaty was made, the children let the people of the Ice keep the lands they gave them and sent them on their way.  It was when the first men came that the problems started.”

“Typical,” Sansa says, blowing a stray lock of hair out of her face.

“Yeah,” Bran smiles faintly, “So the war began between the first men and the children. During the war the key was lost. You see, the children knew something the first men didn’t, they knew about the ice people. Women and children were going missing during the winter, which only made the war worse because now they thought the children were stealing them. So the children were going to release the seasons and drive the white walkers back to the lands from which they came. Yet the witch was after the key, she knew the dangers it held to her people. So one really brave child took the key and sent it away to a time before the winter, where it was sealed forever behind a ward that only one with the children’s blood could pass through, one which unfortunately,” Bran groans aloud, “and this is the worst part. He knew what he was doing when he did it…he didn’t want the key to ever be reached, so to keep it out of the witches hands he made it so that the ward could only be passed through at a certain time. Being that he sent it where he did, nobody can ever get to it now.”

“That’s…” Sansa sits up to look at her brother, very nearly cracking her head against the dirt ceiling, “That’s _ridiculous_! How is that going to help us!?”

“Well,” Bran shrugs, “I have no idea honestly.”

“Grand,” Sansa sighs as she lies back down, “That’s just _grand_.”

“Well at least the witch can’t get to it and forever hold Westeros under heavy winter,” Bran offers helpfully.

“Yeah,” Sansa smiles faintly, “I suppose that’s a good thing.”

As they lie there in silence someone runs up and rounds the corner, Leaf’s face slowly coming into view. “There is someone outside,” Leaf says to her, “They’re asking for you. One could enter but one could not.”

“Sansa?” Another voice, familiar to her.

 She smiles and leans out of the alcove to look, “Jon!”

“It’s bloody freezing outside,” Jon tells her, “Can you ask them to let Oberyn in?”

“Jon!” Bran calls, pulling himself up behind Sansa so that he could lean out and look too.

“Bran,” Jon smiles at his half-brother, “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too,” Bran smiles at him.

“Leaf,” Sansa says softly, “Leaf can’t you let him in? He’s my _husband_.”

For a moment she thinks Leaf will deny her before she gives Sansa a sour look and then waves her hand. Moments later she can hear Oberyn stumbling his way down into the cavern, his dark eyes meeting hers. “Finally,” he says as he sees her, “I was beginning to think I’d never get here.”

“Hello,” Bran says, peering over his sister’s shoulder, “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Hello,” Oberyn bows his head politely as he comes to sit on the ground beneath the alcove Sansa and Bran were in, “You must be her brother Bran.”

“I am,” Bran nods, “You must be the dornish prince.”

“His _name_ is Oberyn,” Sansa says softly, shooting her brother a look.

“Oberyn then,” Bran tells her and then looks at Oberyn, “Pick a spot,” he motions to the room, “Just keep out of other people’s burrows.”

“What?” Oberyn quirks an eyebrow, clearly missing the point.

“We’ll I’m assuming you mean to stay the night,” Bran says, “and this alcove is currently occupied, but I’m sure there’s room here somewhere. You can’t exactly go back up top can you? Not with the ice and the snow out there.”

“What of our dragons?” Jon asks, dropping down near the fire to warm himself.

“The children will keep them safe,” Bran tells him, “You have a dragon too now Jon?”

“Yes,” Jon says, “His name is Viserion.”

“I should like to see them I think,” Bran tells the group, “Before you leave.”

 

* * *

 

When everyone is settled down and warm, Sansa waits until she hears her brother’s breath even out. When she was certain he was sleeping she rolls to her side to look at Oberyn, who picked a spot on the floor near where she lay, and found him looking at her as well.

“You found me,” she smiles softly at him.

“I found you,” Oberyn agrees with a nod, “Though I shouldn’t have had to do that. You were supposed to wait for me.”

“I couldn’t wait any longer and you know it,” Sansa tells him with a wan smile, “I wanted to wait for you though.”

“The white walkers have a witch Sansa,” Oberyn murmurs softly, “and that witch means to kill you. For some reason she is fixated with you, and you coming here has made her nervous.”

“The witch?” Sansa blinks at him, “The witch from the story? The one from Old Valeryia? Why does she care about _me_?”

“There’s no telling,” he sighs as he rubs his tired eyes, “I just want to get you out of this rabbit hole and get you somewhere safe.”

“I’m safe here,” Sansa says softly, “The white walkers can’t pass the ward at the door.”

After a pause, “This floor is incredibly hard.”

Smiling apologetically Sansa replies, “I hardly fit in this alcove. I’ve had to tuck my legs under just to do it.”

Oberyn smiles faintly up at her and lifts one arm, Sansa accepting the gesture slides down from the alcove and to the floor, curling against her beloved. “I like it here,” Sansa tells him softly, “It’s safe and warm…there’s no more fighting or worrying…no more worries at all.”

“The magic of the children,” Oberyn tells her, “Don’t let them fool you. I’ve heard many stories about the children…they aren’t a vicious people but during the war they used magic to trick the humans. They can be crafty and clever when need be.”

Nodding Sansa closes her eyes, inhaling the sweet musk that could only belong to Oberyn, “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” Oberyn admits softly, kissing her gently. It was nice to kiss him again, to feel the warmth of him next to her. For months she went without such luxuries, and now that he was alive and back by her side she never wanted to let him go again.

“When Rickon comes of age,” Sansa says softly, “I want to turn over the wardenship to him and go back to Dorne.”

“Do you think your brother can handle such a responsibility?” Oberyn quirks an eyebrow at her, “He’s as wild as wolf.”

“When I’m done with him he’ll be fit to be King if need be,” Sansa grins up at Oberyn, “I’m that good.”

“Then I trust your expertise on the matter,” Oberyn grins back at her, “I miss Dorne too.”

“Yes,” Sansa sighs softly, “I miss the warm water and the beach…the people…I miss the Water Gardens. We had many happy times there didn’t we?”

“We did,” Oberyn nods sleepily.

“I just figured…” Sansa begins but trails off as she drifts to sleep mid-sentence, much to Oberyn’s amusement. He closes his own eyes and falls asleep as well, Opting to let the stress of the day go in favor of some rest.

 

* * *

 

In the morning Sansa wakes alone and back in bed beside Bran. Something tickles behind her ear and when she touches it she finds an orange summer blossom nestled prettily in her hair. Smiling to herself she inhales the fragrance of it, reminiscing on days long ago. She can hear voices in the cavern nearby, the children were up and eating breakfast. Bran was still asleep beside her, snoring lightly with one arm over his eyes. Climbing out of bed she stretches and then picks her way down to the fire among the children where her husband and half-brother sat, eating odds and ends from different plates being passed around. Much to her mild horror Jon was eating the funny looking pill bugs, and when asked of them he informed her he’s eaten far worse and they tasted glorious anyways.

In Dorne, they have delicacies involving scorpions and snake venom so it doesn’t exactly faze Sansa when she sees Oberyn doing the same; mind you she has no interest in kissing him now until he’s rinsed his mouth. She takes a piece of the sweet bread she was eating last night and glass of the honeyed water for breakfast, humming to herself happily. The magic beneath the tree left you warm and happy; it was like the magic was in the very air they were breathing.  It made her forget the world outside and the harsh winter.

“Do they have an answer then?” Jon asks over breakfast, “Can they help us?”

“No,” Sansa admits softly, “but Bran had a suggestion. We have to find an ancient magical relic that was lost centuries ago and use to drive back the white walkers.”

Jon nods thoughtfully, “Not too difficult then.”

The two share a moment of silence and then start to laugh a little. It was bizarre that she could ever laugh anymore, not with all the hardship and sorrow in the world outside. This place really was pure magic.

Abrutely Blackfyre lets loose a roar that shakes the ceiling above them, Viserion joining in with his cries. Just like that, the joy is sucked out of the room and fear races through Sansa’s blood. Jumping to her feet she dashes up the tunnels with Oberyn and Jon hot on her heels.

“Sansa _stop_!” Oberyn shouts, grabbing her arm before she can step through the ward and outside.

“Don’t let her go outside!” Leaf is shouting somewhere behind them, the child appearing just behind Jon, “She _cannot_ leave.”

“She goes where I go,” Oberyn tells the child pointedly.

“Not if her life depends on it,” Leaf tells him firmly, “The witch is close, the dragons raise the alarm.”

“You…speak dragon?” Sansa blinks at Leaf.

“I speak the tongue of all living things,” Leaf replies serenely and then steps around her to peer out through the ward. Outside the wind begins to howl and the sky fogs over in a blanket of white. “They’re coming….Sansa Stark you must not go beyond this ward.” With those final words Leaf touches the ward, magic furling out from her finger tips. “And now you can’t, whether you want to or not.”

“She’s right Sansa,” Oberyn says in a softer tone, catching her face between his hands, “Sansa listen to me. This witch is coming for you. Jon tells me that your Uncle Benjen overheard her plans, and she is the one pulling the strings controlling the armies of the dead. If we kill the witch we destroy that which controls the armies and they all perish. The white walkers will be heavily outnumbered after that. I would be destroying a threat to you and to Westeros in one go. I must do this, and you must stay here.”

“ _No_ ,” Sansa shakes her head feverently, pressing her hands over the ones he held pressed to her cheeks, “No you _can’t_ …she’s a witch Oberyn, she’s _dangerous_. She’s thousands of years old and her magic is powerful.”

“If I can deal with a long dead Targaryen prince stealing the body of a dragon and kidnapping my wife,” Oberyn smiles wanly at her, “I can handle one witch.”

“I’ll go with him,” Jon says as he unsheathes Longclaw, “You’ll need valerian steal to deal with her.”

Oberyn nods, “Let’s get this over with.”

“Oberyn,” Sansa whispers desperately, fear racing through her heart, “Be careful.”

“Always my love,” he murmurs as he presses soft kisses to her lips and face, “Stay here, _promise me_ you will.”

“Well I don’t have much of a choice now do I?” Sansa smiles faintly up at him, kissing him desperately and with as much love as she can muster, “Be safe.”

“I will try,” he tells her and with that he and Jon step through the wards.

Sansa stands at the doorway watching, Leaf at her side. Watching her beloved go into battle was one thing, being unable to help him was an entirely different subject. Sansa felt trapped and helpless inside the cave entrance, unable to reach him.

_Please…please let him be safe._


	79. Chapter 79

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: WARNING BEFORE YOU READ: Just want to warn everyone about a few things. So this chapter is super long. This is the last chapter before Book 3, and it's got a lot of stuff happening in it. We're going to see some serious battle scenes and a whole lot of angst. It's probably the darkest chapter in maybe the entire trilogy. I had a really hard time with this chapter, but I promise after this chapter things will get lighter again. I just wanted to give everyone a heads up. This is going to be some serious...serious stuff. Just so everybody knows.

Outside the wind howls as Oberyn Martell pulls himself up beneath the great weirwood tree and feeling his way along the lower branches, snaps off a piece. Somewhere below him Leaf let’s out a howl of rage, so shocking it startles Sansa.

“That miserable _wretch_!” Leaf snarls and suddenly she is no longer beside Sansa but beneath the tree with Oberyn. “Filthy dirty human! How _dare_ you!”

“I need fire!” Oberyn tells the child frantically, “I have no steel of my own, I need something to drive the white walkers _back_!”

Leaf glares, bright gold eyes aflame with rage as she sharply waves her hand and fire flares to life on the edges of the branch, dancing just a little too close to Oberyn’s coat sleeve….

“ _Fuck_ ,” he says sharply, edging away from the flames and glaring at the child before him.

“You needed fire you said,” Leaf says venomously, “You have fire.”

“I’m sorry,” Oberyn tells the child, “I know the tree is sacred to you but I had nothing else.”

“Mind the dragon will you!” Jon suddenly shouts, pointing towards the south where an emerald and silver dragon is soaring high above. Leaf and Oberyn both pause to look, and Leaf inhales sharply.

“No,” she says frantically, “not _him_.”

“Who?” Oberyn looks between the child and the dragon in the sky.

“The Night’s King,” Leaf snarls darkly, “She’s sent her puppet to do her bidding.”

“Coward,” Oberyn mutters darkly and climbs down the hill to stand beside Jon. Behind them Viserion and Blackfyre stir, claws and teeth bare in defiance of the dragon in the distance.

“Whatever happens,” Jon tells Oberyn quietly, “One of us must get Sansa out of here.”

“Agreed,” Oberyn says with a nod as the two brace themselves for battle.

The first assault comes in the form of ice, it hails down on everything the dragon passes, shattering on impact and sending shards of ice in every direction. Leaf is ready for this, swinging balls of flame and magic at the beast in the sky. It lets out a snarl of rage at being struck, its tail swinging down beneath it to slam into the earth below, dragging rock and snow in waves. The Night’s King jumps from the back of the great silver beast and slams into the ground below, the dirt and ice cracking beneath his feet. This doesn’t seem to faze him though as he walks with purpose towards the warded door where Sansa Stark stood.

Intently she gazes upon him, though behind him she can see Jon, sword at the ready as he pursues his target. If the only help she can serve is to be a distraction then so be it. When Jon swings the king only blocks it, his eyes never leaving Sansa’s face. One arm swings it with a sword like rainbow glass and collides with steel and they sing loudly in the cold morning air.  Again he tries only to be blocked, until finally Jon tries a different tactic. More like severing an arm really, as he has had quite enough. With a howl he halts and turns, though rather than blood Jon sees only ice and wonders to himself just what exactly _were_ these things?

“ENOUGH!” Leaf’s voice echoes and all stop to look. One by one the children appear, gold and silver and emerald eyes glimmering at the cave entrance. Leave stands above them all under the tree, looking down upon the Nights King. “You would risk war to slay one human?”

“Not the human,” The king says his voice a hiss, “just the magic.”

To late did Sansa realize what he meant, her gaze turned upward. He was after the tree, not her. He was assaulting her as a distraction. Realizing they’d been tricked Sansa looks at the others, “Now what?”

Above Leaf answers that question for her, “Then it is war.” Leaf echoes allowed for all to hear, “You have hurt one of our own.”

“I did no such thing,” the King replies, gazing up at Leaf, “Nowhere did the treaty say that the trees were forbidden.”

“Not the tree,” Leaf says pointedly, as if revealing a great secret, “but the human…your kind have injured one of ours, the prince.”

_Prince…what prince….not…not…Oberyn?_

Sansa looks at her beloved who was completely uninjured, Oberyn in turn looks at the King and then at Leaf, “I am uninjured.”

“Not _you_ ,” Leaf all but rolls her eyes, “The dragon prince.”

_Aegon…._

Eyes wide and heart pounding, Sansa presses closer to the ward. How could Aegon be involved in all of this? Surely he wasn’t a Stark as well?

The King sneers at the child, “That boy is no child of the forest, his blood is valerian.”

“And of the children,” Leaf tilts her chin up looking for all the world superior, “he is one of us and he is injured. You have broken the treaty set by our people long ago, and now we shall have blood for the blood that was split.”

The King debates this for a moment and then looks up at Leaf, “As you wish.” Then he turns towards the blanketed fog behind them and utters three words, “Kill them all.”

“Fuck!” Jon shouts, diving sideways as an explosion of limbs and hands burst from the ground, grabbing at his ankles. Oberyn gives a shout, a white walker all but materializing beside him. Swinging the torch in his hands he drives them back, setting them aflame. Below, Jon swings his sword, severing limbs and kicking away that which grabs at him. The Nights King however, continues walking towards the wards.

“He’ll never get through,” one child whispers to Sansa.

“Stop,” Sansa calls the King, “Listen _please_!”

He halts, looking at her curiously and Sansa continues, “You’re a Stark aren’t you? We’re blood…you and I; we’re related….I must be your great niece. Tell me why you’re doing this!”

He only smiles at her as his sword swings out, easily blocking the flames of magic hurled at him by Leaf. “Because I want to.”

“But why?” Sansa blurts out, “Surely we can talk about this.”

“Sansa!” Jon shouts from afar, “Now isn’t the time to try and reason with the mad king!”

“Boy,” the King turns away from Sansa and looks at Jon, “You know nothing of madness.”

“I know a thing or two about madness,” Jon says pointedly, “my Father was a madman,” Jon tells him venomously, “and you’re a _murderer_.”

The King charges him, their swords singing in the air as the battle. Behind them Oberyn ducks beneath the tree next to Leaf as Viserion and Blackfyre take flight, the two of them tackling the great silver dragon as it makes another circle over the tree.

“Kill the puppet,” Leaf instructs Oberyn, “We have to destroy her puppet and she’ll have no one to hide behind anymore.”

“Easier said than done,” Oberyn tells Leaf, “It would be easier if my blade would work on white walkers.”

“Here,” Leaf says, producing a blade from her belt, “its dragon glass.”

Flipping the blade easily in his hand he smiles at Leaf before abruptly hurtling the dragon glass with all his strength. It flips through the air, slamming into the King’s ribs just beneath his left arm. He howls and turns on Jon, swinging with all his strength. Jon blocks, pivots and is thrown sideways. Down he goes, Long claw sliding away from his grasp. The King in turn wretches the dragon glass from his side and tosses it aside, preparing for another attack.

“ _Shit_ ,” Oberyn curses and dives forward to grab Longclaw, struggling through snow drifts and icy dirt. The King charges forward as Oberyn moves, but Oberyn Martell is the Red Viper, and he’s much, _much_ faster. The sword in his hand he is suddenly a dancer without music, his body and instrument to expression motion. Back and forth they duel, while in the background Jon crawls through the snow and up to his feet, searching for a weapon, for _anything_.

_Jon…_

What was that voice calling him?

_Jon…_

It was like music, the sound of her voice. It echoed in his mind and rang in the air like the sweetest song. He turns away from the battle, following the sound. Near his feet the bloody dragon glass blade glimmers in the dim morning light. He stops and looks at it, picking it up. He needs this for something, it’s important…

“JON!” Sansa is shouting, real panic in her voice now. Behind her half-brother stood a woman she’s never seen before. Her hair was the color of finely spun silver streaked with gold, eyes of the brightest vivid indigo and pale skin like the winter snow. She was beautiful, and she was luring Jon away from the fight. “JON!” Sansa screams again, but the witch only smiles and turns her gaze on Sansa, and that smile is almost _hateful_.

Jon Stark stared at the woman before him with a mixture of longing and confusion. In the back of his mind a woman was screaming his name, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember her name. The silver haired witch steps closer, her fingers crackle with magic as she slides them along his cheek. “You almost tempt me Jon Snow,” the witch whispers softly, “I’ve had only one King for far too long now.”

These words seem to snap him out of it. It was something in the way she said his name that echoed another, a red haired wildling woman…

 _Men are so simple_ echoes a voice in Sansa’s head, _they’re hearts are so easily molded and shaped into whatever I choose. Men only require few things to sustain them. Bloodshed, drink and a pretty woman to fuck._ Sansa blinks at the witch whose voice rings clear as a bell in her ears and yet goes unheard by anyone else. _What’s wrong Sansa, don’t you remember me?_

Remember you… _who are you_? How does she know my name?

The witch smiles at Sansa’s silence and continues upon a whisper to Jon, “Be my King Jon Snow…you’ve such a lovely face.”

Behind him the battle continues between Oberyn and the Night’s King. Jon turns his gaze towards them, sees the chaos behind him. He looks at the witch as he forces himself to focus, pretends not to notice the dagger in her pale smooth hands as she readies to plunge it into his chest. She thinks she has him, thinks that she has _won_.

Oberyn turns into the battle before him, pivoting in a circle, sliding the blade towards the King’s stomach. He blocks, forces the Longclaw upward and to the side. Oberyn steps back, swings again, one…two…three….pivot, turn…one…two…three…pivot and then suddenly his right foot slides too far to the right and his knee is suddenly _throbbing_.

Sansa watches with baited breath, the children all around her. Some were howling with rage, some were pressing in on the ward, tempted to join the battle. This would mean war for the children and the Ice people, and war it would be. To long they’ve watched the ice people destroy the humans, and to long have their ranks gone unchecked.

Cursing Oberyn stumbles back, the King’s laughter is hollow in his ears. If he failed this battle, Sansa would die. The witch had to die, and in order to do that her puppet must be destroyed. One more attack, one more try. He would not fail her; he would not fail Ellaria and their children. He would be failing Dorne, and all those who he loved. One last swing with all his strength to break the King’s block, but this swing would cost him dearly. Pain shoots up his thigh, agony ripping through his body. His knee was certain sprained at the very least; the agony of it was distracting.

He needed to get close enough to do it, and there was only one way. The King was a skilled swordsman, and his defense was too strong. Glancing back at Jon he meets his gaze, a slight tilt of his head told Jon everything he needed to know.  In his hand, Jon gripped the dragon glass blade, his back to the chaos behind him. The witch so preoccupied with her prey she didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late.

Oberyn took a deep breath and met Sansa’s gaze. He would die with the memory of her beautiful face etched in his mind, a face full of love for him. _Forgive me_ …he thinks as he thrusts his blade to the right as the Night King presses down with all his weight. Oberyn gasps, shock and pain ripping through him as the Night King’s blade presses through his middle. His left hand outstretched he waited…and _hoped_.

Jon hears it before he sees it, and knows that he only has seconds before Oberyn falls. Thrusting his right leg out he kicks the witch as hard as he can in the stomach away from him and spins around, thrusting the dragon blade through the air.

It was like watching a dance, perfectly timed. Oberyn catches the dragon blade in his left hand and with his right, grips the leather armor of the Night King and grunts in agony as he pulls himself closer to him. The Night King not expecting such a move is caught off guard just long enough for Oberyn to bring his left hand up and with his very last ounce of energy, swings it with all his might.  

It was like watching the battle through water. The world slowed down as Sansa screamed at the sight, collapsing to her knees. The Night King’s head slides clean off his shoulders and rolls to the ground. Oberyn collapses backwards, blood oozing from his middle. Jon staggers down the hillside towards him and the witch…the witch was _smiling_.

 _Tis a pity,_ the witches voice echoes in Sansa’s ears, _I rather liked him._

Though her words were bitter Sansa hardly heard her. Tears rolled down her cheeks unchecked as her gaze rested on her beloved. This wasn’t supposed to happen like this…this isn’t how the story is supposed to end. The prince always defeats the evil king in the stories….

She doesn’t realize that she’s beating her fists bloody on the ward. She can’t hear the children as they pull at her gown and her arms, trying to pull her back. Jon drops to his knees beside Oberyn, who lies on his side, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

Somewhere up above a dragon roars and the sound is deafening. The witch calls to it, and climbs onto it’s back. Smiling at Sansa Stark she whispers in her ears as she soars up into the sky, _We will meet again._

When she is gone Leaf drops the ward and Sansa runs, staggers to her knees, scrapping soft skin against bare stone before she’s on her feet again. Collapsing at Oberyn’s side she helps Jon turn him, her fingers on the hilt of the sword lodged in his middle.

“No,” Jon says sharply, “you’ll only cause him more pain and he’ll bleed to death faster.”

Quickly she releases it, horror and sorrow etched across her face, “ _Why_ ,” Sansa weeps, “ _Why_!”

“Because I must,” Oberyn tells her, a soft smile curving his bloodied lips, “My love I would give everything to see you safe.”

Jon watches in the background beside Leaf who murmurs softly, “He won’t last much longer.”

“Save him,” Sansa whispers softly, “Please…you have magic. _Save him_!”

“Our magic doesn’t work like that,” Leaf tells her regretfully, “It would go against nature. To heal is one thing…to bring someone back from the brink of death is impossible. He is far too gone.”

“It’s alright,” Oberyn shushes her softly when she cries harder, “It’s alright…I made my choose, and I chose _you_. I love you…you were one of the best decisions I ever made Sansa Stark.” Oberyn tells her even as she shakes her head feverently, unable to accept what was happening, “I am so glad I married you.”

“You _can’t_ ,” Sansa pleads softly, “You can’t do this…you’re not supposed to _die_ , you’re supposed to win!”

“But I did win,” Oberyn tells her with a sad sort of look in his eyes, “I won and now the witch is weakened,” Oberyn catches her chin and tilts it up to look at him, pain glitters in his eyes and he was paler then she’s ever seen him, “Now the witch has nowhere to hide.” When she looks away he turns her face back to him, “Don’t cry my love, shhh,” he whispers as Sansa leans close to him, “Forgive me this my heart.”

“I do,” Sansa nods, “I’ll always forgive you…you know that.”

“That’s good,” he smiles wanly, “always keep that compassion and forgiveness in your heart, never let it go.” He tells her softly, “Promise me…you will promise me yes?”

“Anything,” Sansa says, struggling to hold back another sob, “ _anything_.”

“Promise me you will let me go when I’m gone,” he tells her softly and shushes her when she tries to object, “I know you Sansa,” he tells her softly, “I know you will try and hold onto me. I want you to let me go and be happy. Fulfill every dream you have, find someone knew…fall in love, get married. I would not want you to ever spend your life alone.”

“You can’t make me promise that,” Sansa says mournfully, “I don’t want…you can’t…”

“ _Sansa_ ,” he says with as much firmness as he can muster.

“I will try,” she whispers brokenly.

He winces as he pulls her close, pressing his lips to hers. Its messy wet, tears streaking down Sansa’s cheeks. When he lies back she hears his breath, soft a whisper as the wind picks up. When she raises her head to look at him, he’s gone.

 

* * *

 

Inside the cavern beneath the old weirwood tree, Sansa Stark prepares her husband for travel. She collects summer blossoms from every corner and every tunnel she can find them, and makes a bed of them for her beloved to rest upon. She has cleaned him up and the Night King’s sword was taken away by Jon, who upon Sansa’s demands took it outside to get rid of it.

He was so handsome, Sansa thinks softly to herself. She touches the soft dark curls on his head, brushed lightly with grey. Even at fifty her beloved was just as handsome as the day she’d first seen him. Gently she places his sword upon his chest and his hand upon the hilt. He should be buried with his spear, but Doran will see to that. Jon had suggested a Valerian funeral by dragon fire but Sansa was repulsed by the idea. Her beloved would rest beside his sister Elia in Dorne.

“We’re ready,” Jon says quietly from somewhere behind her.

Sansa nods, tears burning her eyes as Jon along with some of the children lift Oberyn. He rests upon a bed of fern leaves and summer blossoms, and around it was a net made of rope so that Jon could carry him back to Dorne with Viserion. Sansa had demanded he take him straight to Dorne, that Oberyn was a Prince and demanded such respect. Jon would have done anything she asked if it’d take the sorrow from her eyes.

Sansa follows them out through the tunnels and out into the twilight outside. Blackfyre is perched beneath the tree and Viserion just outside the cave entrance. Jon readies him for flight while Sansa suddenly turns and starts toward Blackfyre.

“Sansa,” Jon says wearily, watching her go, “Sansa I want you to ride with me. You’re in no shape to be flying right now.”

“I can’t Jon,” Sansa says quietly, her face was expressionless and yet her eyes were full of fierce determination. Earlier that day Leaf had come to her while she was preparing Oberyn. Her words still rang clear in Sansa’s mind.

_“Don’t let his death be in vain,” Leaf says quietly as she works. “Make it mean something.”_

_“What would you have me do?” Sansa whispers brokenly, “I have given all that I can.”_

_“I’m afraid I must ask more of you still,” Leaf tells her softly, “Would you give your life for those you love Sansa Stark? Would you give the last breath in your body to see them safe?”_

_Sansa is still and thoughtful before she answers, “I would.”_

_“Where I’m sending you will cost magic that I cannot use again. You will never be able to return once your task is done,” Leaf explains to her._

_“I understand,” Sansa says as she stands to look at Leaf, determination glittering in her eyes, “What must I do?”_

_“Find the key,” Leaf tells her._

_“Where?” Sansa asks, recalling Bran’s story._

_“It is lost,” Leaf tells her, “but you will find it.”_

_“How does that help?” Sansa says bitterly, frustration and sorrow in her heart, “How am I supposed to find it?”_

_“You will find it,” Leaf repeats, “Do you accept this task?”_

_Sansa stares at the child, tears burning in her eyes and anger burning in her heart. She would not let her beloved’s sacrifice be in vain. The witch was going to burn, her armies would burn and the people she loved would be safe. “I accept.”_

 

“Sansa,” Jon repeats, “ _Where are you going_?”

“I have no idea,” Sansa almost laughs, the bitterness was rising in her throat like bile. The people she’s lost and loved and lost again would not be lost in vain. They would be avenged and she would be the one to do it. “But I’ll be alright.” She says it with such certainly it makes Jon pause in his advance. “Go, Jon. Take Oberyn home to his people.” He watches her as she climbs onto Blackfyre and then she gives a tiny nod in Leaf’s direction.

“Fly into the storm,” Leaf tells her pointedly, “Fly straight and true and don’t stop.”

Jon whips around to look at him, “That’s madness! She’ll be killed!”

Above them the wind picks up and starts to howl through the eaves of the weirwood tree. A storm brews overhead and appears so suddenly Sansa gasps. It reminds her of the storm she stood in the very first time she left with Oberyn for Dorne.

“Jon,” Sansa says aloud as he turns to look at her, “Tell Arya I love her…tell her I’m sorry.”

With that she takes off, Blackfyre shooting up into the sky, straight into the heart of the storm. Jon cries out as she goes and he watches in horror as she disappears into the dark and angry clouds above.  The wind billows and howls and lightening crackles above his head.

Then it was gone…and so was Sansa.

Behind him, Leaf collapses. Hodor appears at the cave entrance and rushes to her side. “Leaf,” Hodor says, “Leaf!”

“I will be fine,” Leaf says wearily, “The magic…the cost was great.”

“Hodor?” Jon frowns at the taller man.

“It’s me Jon,” Hodor says, “its Bran…I’m warging through Hodor.”

“Bran,” Jon says, unfazed because considering he’s witnessed his father come back from the dead and high jack both his body and then Rhaegal’s,  his half-sister magically disappear into a lightning storm, and the children of the forest are _very real_ and _very alive_ …Jon’s seen it all. “Bran where is Sansa…what the bloody hell is going on? I _promised_ Oberyn… _I promised him I’d take her home_!”

“She has gone home Jon,” Hodor who was actually Bran says tentatively, extending to him an old worn looking leather Journal, “Read it.”

Jon takes it tentatively and then looks at Hodor, “What is this?”

“Just read it,” Bran tells him with a nod towards the journal, “it will answer every question you have. I’ve got this too,” Bran adds as he turns and lifts a tiny metal trunk from behind him, “for you to take back with you. There’s things in here that belong to you and Arya and a few things for other people too.”

“Bran,” Jon glares at him, anger surging through his blood, “Your sister just flew into a bloody storm, she’s gone! _Where the bloody hell is she_!” He shouts, his temper finally getting the better of him. His voice echoes and bounces off the surrounding mountainside.

“Just read it,” is all Bran says as he nods towards the journal in Jon’s hands. Jon glares at him and then opens it to the first page, frowning at the yellowing parchment and the words scrawled clearly in Sansa’s handwriting:

 

_My name is Sansa Stark…and I am lost._

 

  **End Book 2**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yeah, that was horrible and I'm so sorry. I knew where this was going from like the middle of Book 1 and I was really dreading this chapter. I actually had to step away from the computer when I was writing it because I was tearing up a bit. I love Oberyn Martell as a character and I'm happy I got to explore his character some more. 
> 
> So apart from the horrifying events of this chapter does anyone have any guesses as to where Sansa is? I'll be posting the beginning of Book 3 shortly I'm still working out the kinks. Any guesses?


	80. BOOK 3: In The Warmth Of Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

Under the heat of the sun and the sprawling blue sky there came a touch of winter to the air. A great storm swept over Westeros, bringing with it not only the pouring rain but a precious cargo carried on the wind. The storm passed as quickly as it arrived, leaving behind only two things, a dragon the color of smoke streaked with silver and a lone woman with hair the color of dragon fire.

The woman on the dragon’s back lay motionless against his shoulders, her mind foggy and unfocused. Magic tingled against her skin and in every fiber of her being. The dragon beneath her was mostly unaffected as dragons tend to be naturally resistant to foreign magic.  On his back Sansa lies in a dreamless sleep, her body exhausted both emotionally and physically. Somewhere beneath her she thinks she hears trumpets and hundreds of voices cheering before suddenly falling silent, as if a great hush had swept the land. Blearily and unfocused she opens her eyes, and beneath her she thinks she sees King’s Landing…and yet it wasn’t.

_I must be dead….yet if I am dead where is my family…where is Oberyn? Perhaps I am dreaming…_

Sansa closed her eyes and let the exhaustion take her, entrusting her life unto the dragon beneath her.

 

* * *

 

Low they swept to the ground, the great winged beast dropping to the ground outside of an abandoned farm house in the wild of the riverlands. Groggily Sansa awoke and she slid from the back of the dragon and stumbled to her feet. Though her flaming hair was askew and her soft leather overcoat was worn with dirt and dust, her appearance did not give way to the agony inside. She walks steadily towards the river’s edge and dips her hand in the cool water, washing away the dirt and grime from her face while Blackfyre, her dragon drinks deeply from the refreshing stream. On her knees in the mud and wet grass she cries, her heart torn asunder and her body aching from the pain.

They were somewhere in the Riverlands, she knew that much. Where exactly she had no idea, and quite frankly she didn’t care at the moment. Sansa Stark had reached her breaking point, and she was ready to give up. It was too high of a cost, and she was unwilling to pay. She had already paid so much in life, the loss of her family, her home, the loss of her freedom, and then eventually she regained it all. Regained it all many times over, only to suffer the loss of the one person in the world she couldn’t bear to be without.  He had given his life to save hers, given it freely without a second thought and sent her forth into this unknown world alone save for Blackfyre so that she might regain what was lost and put the world right again.

“Girl…why do you cry?” asks a gravelly voice, a voice she thought she’d never hear again.

Sansa sits up and leans back on her calves, turning her body to look behind her. There among the tall green grass and blooming wildflowers stood Leaf.

“Leaf,” Sansa says, rubbing the tears from her cheeks. “You would know…you were there.”

“There… _where_?” Leaf quirks an eyebrow.

“At the heart tree,” Sansa tells her, “Where the Night’s King murdered my husband.”

“Interesting,” Leaf says, eyeing both she and the dragon, “and how did you come by such magic as this?”

“You sent me here,” Sansa says, frowning at Leaf. “I haven’t a clue where _here_ is at the moment however.”

“And why would I do that?” Leaf asks, tilting her head to one side.

“I don’t know,” Sansa snaps angrily, frustration and grief mixing together in a symphony of emotion. “You told me I had to journey back to what was in order to save what is.”

Leaf tastes the air and gasps, her wild colored eyes sparkling in the sunlight, “The magic has called me here to you,” she frowns, her gazing drifting to the side in thought, “I must be present.”

“What?” Sansa asks, her brows wrinkled in confusion.

“Why have you come here girl?” Leaf asks pointedly, “why would my people sacrifice such magic for you?”

“You used what you could muster to send me here,” Sansa says, her voice taking on an edge of frustration mixed with the desperate attempt of holding back tears, “You told me I have to journey back to what was in order to save what is. I don’t know what you mean by that I really don’t. You made me think I was going to my _death_!”

“Well technically,” Leaf says thoughtfully, “if what you claim is true you’ve been dead for centuries where you’re from so you did _technically_ go to your death.”

“ _Centuries_?” Panic races through her blood and she stares at Leaf, “What do you mean by that?”

“Do you know why you’ve come here? Do you know what you seek?” Leaf’s eyes are on the horizon now, something behind Sansa has given her pause. “Tell me child quickly… _do you know what you seek_?”

“Yes,” Sansa says, “You told me I had to find the key that which changes the seasons…all you do is speak in riddles!” Sansa all but shouts at Leaf, “Riddles and nonsense! Can you not just tell me what I must do to save my home?”

“You must be brave child,” Leaf takes a step back as if turning to run, “and you must be brave _now_ , braver then you’ve ever been before.”

“What do you---…” Sansa trails off, frowning down at the grass beneath her. A sudden shadow has cast itself over the land, and when Blackfyre suddenly stirs from his spot beside the river and backs away from it, a shiver courses its way up her spine. Blackfyre snarls, his wings fluttering anxiously.

Sansa looks to Leaf and finds her gone, so she turns her gaze to the sky behind her, and what she sees makes her blood run cold. A dragon the color of honey and bronze, bigger than anything she’s ever see is racing down toward them, and on the dragon’s back she spies a silver haired woman.  When the dragon lands dirt and grass go flying as it gives a snarl of warning when it sets its silver eyes on Blackfyre.

Sansa is briefly awestruck by the magnificent beast, before the rider slid to the ground, her silver hair braided and thrown over one shoulder. A circlet of gold rests at her temple, and eyes of the deepest indigo scrutinize the scene before her.

“You there,” She says as she steps forward, the glint of the sun catching the steel of the sword in her hand, “Tell me who you are so that I might know which house shall burn for this treachery.”

 It was as if all the words were caught in her throat. She could not speak save for to stare at the woman before her. The sword in her hand was familiar, it was the very same sword she gave Aegon. The very same one he took to Dany, it was _Dark Sister_.

“I….” Sansa swallows thickly, unable to form complete sentences. This woman was intimidating at the very least, she was as tall as Sansa but stronger built, hours of practice with a sword have honed her body. “Forgive me,” Sansa says, “but I did not steal this dragon, he’s mine.”

“ _Lies_ ,” the woman says icily, “Tell me from which house you hail and from where you stole this dragon. Tell me swiftly or your punishment will not be quick _or_ merciful.”

“I speak before the seven,” Sansa says, “I did not steal this dragon. He is mine…he is called Blackfyre.”

He woman steps closer, scrutinizing the soft dark brown leather overcoat she wears, the gold embroidery of dragons at her collar and shoulders. Then she steps forward again, her brow furrowed in thought before she utters the soft musical syllables of old valerian, a question and Sansa thinks….a hope.

“ _Do you come from the old world?”_ the woman asks, watching Sansa intently.

 _“There are many old worlds,”_ Sansa begins tentatively, “ _but I am from this place_.”

“Yet you speak our tongue,” she retorts quickly, a flash of disappointment crossing her face, “If not from the old world, then where? How did you come by this dragon?”

“I found him, a hatchling in the snow. His mother perished and he was alone in the world,” Sansa explains, “I saved him and he saved me, we are good friends now.”

“The only dragons that still live are those of my family,” the woman tells her pointedly, “therefore that dragon must belong to us.”

“My lady please…hear me out---…” Sansa trails off as the woman cuts her off sharply.

“How _dare_ you speak to me in such a manner,” she frowns at Sansa, “I am the _queen_.”

There was no denying it now…she knew now where she was and who this woman was.

“Your grace forgive me,” Sansa bows her head politely, “I did not mean to offend, I did not recognize you.”

“It is an easy mistake to make,” the woman waves her off; “I do not travel as often as his grace the King.”

Who in the seven kingdoms _wouldn’t_ recognize the face of Visenya Targaryen? She and her brother and sister conquered the seven kingdoms in the war of the conquest. It was probably folly to act as if she didn’t recognize her. “Your grace,” Sansa says softly, “I beg forgiveness for the slight you feel I’ve dealt you and your family. I speak before the seven when I say I saved him out of the kindness and compassion I felt for him, and did not steal him from your family intentionally.”

“Half of Westeros saw you on the back of that dragon,” Visenya says thoughtfully as if recalling something Sansa wasn’t aware of, “We cannot allow you to leave freely. You will come with me back to Dragonstone and his grace the King will decide what is to be done.”

Sansa nods and turns towards Blackfyre obediently then stops, blinking at the scene before her. Her ferocious fearsome dragon was twisting in circles, snapping at the other dragon playfully.

“What… _is_ your dragon doing exactly?” Visenya frowns at the scene, “He’s but an infant.”

“He….does that sometimes,” Sansa says, blushing bright scarlet.

She gives Sansa a weary look and rolls her eyes before climbing onto the back of her dragon and telling her pointedly as Sansa settles Blackfyre down so she can climb onto his back, “If you dare run, I will warn you now you won’t get far. That dragon is but an infant and Vhagar is older and much stronger.  You would not escape me.”

“I wouldn’t dare try your grace,” Sansa replies as she gathers Blackfyre’s reigns in her hands.

In the sky she sails along behind Visenya, Blackfyre adamant and as uncoordinated as ever.  Several times Visenya called out to her, urging her to keep up, glaring at her whenever Blackfyre tried to veer off in the wrong direction.

She was going to meet Aegon the Conqueror.

She was heartbroken and exhausted.

She must survive.


	81. Chapter 81

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

Dragonstone is not as she remembers it. Its warmer and full of light though the wind howls through the halls at night and the torchlight dances across the stone, creating shadows that dance and sway to an unheard song. Sansa follows Visenya high up into the south wing, into a circular room which Sansa recognized as the library.

Or it _was_ the library anyways.

Now it is a study, the walls lined with books and at the center an ornate desk to which behind it sat a silver haired man bent over parchment, scrawling notes across the page. He looked to be in his early thirties, he was every inch the Targaryen conqueror Sansa ever imagined him to be. She’d heard stories of him many times growing up, and meeting him now was something she never thought possible. He was a story come to life, and as he raised his head his lilac gaze caught hers and she stared. It was quite rude in fact; she knew this in the back of her mind and quickly dropped her gaze.  He was King now, and so she did her duty and curtseyed before him. She was very aware of his gaze upon her, scrutinizing her thoughtfully. Without prompting Visenya spoke for the first time, answering the question in his eyes, “I was at the spring solstice festival in Kings Landing and she flew overhead on a dragon earlier. Half the kingdom witnessed it.”

“A _dragon_?” he says, leaning back into his seat, “One of ours?”

“No,” Visenya replies, “I can’t say I’ve ever seen it before. It’s scarcely an infant I’d reckon, she claims to have saved it from the snow when its mother died.”

“Well that’s certainly peculiar,” he says as he watches Sansa, “for it hasn’t snowed in years.”

“There is always snow in the North your grace,” Sansa says quietly, her eyes on the floor respectfully.

“And _are_ you from the North?” he quirks a silver eyebrow curiously.

Yes….no….yes…no…oh _why_ didn’t she pay more attention to the maester during history? She usually never slacked on her teachings, but history never intrigued her as much as poetry or music had. She had the coloring of a Tully, if she claimed she was from the North he would think her a liar. Then again, many people had red hair, not just the Tully’s.

“No your grace…I merely found him there,” Sansa says softly.

“You just _found_ a dragon?” he looks at her incredulously, eyebrows furrowed.

“Half of Westeros saw her on the back of that dragon,” Visenya says irritably, “It was a bloody hard sight to miss. How are we going to explain that? They only know of three…for someone to suddenly appear with another dragon…and to make it worse they’ll think some _farm girl_ stole it from us. How are we going to explain that? They’ll think us _weak_ Aegon.”

“Oh she’s no farm girl Visenya,” Aegon says thoughtfully.

“I am your grace,” Sansa says quickly. It would be better if they thought her a simpleton, perhaps they might just let her go. If she were highborn they would have to worry about her telling her family about all of this. Nobody would hear the ramblings of some farm girl and no high born Lord or Lady would believe her either.

“Lies,” Aegon says smoothly as his lilac gaze fixes on Sansa, “It’s in the smoothness of your hands my Lady, the pale of your skin. It’s the fact that you also have all of your teeth my lady, and it’s the eloquence of which you speak and address those around you. It is also the nervousness on your face that betrays you. Tell me truthfully now, _who are you_?”

“I…” For the first time Sansa meets his gaze and then shifts it towards Visenya before looking at him again, “It’s mad….you’ll think me a witch. I swear to you I’m not witch…I’m really not.  The magic was not mine; I had no part in it. They sent me here…do you recall the spring storm that swept the land earlier today? I’m not sure how…I don’t really understand it you see, It…it carried me here.” Sansa falls silent at the look on Aegon’s face, one that is startled and thoughtful all at once. Visenya looks thoroughly unconvinced, but when Aegon stands and turns towards the shelves of books behind him she frowns in his direction.

“ _It can’t be_ ,” he murmurs aloud, pulling a worn leather journal from one of the shelves. He gently turns the pages, searching through it carefully until he stops on one page and begins to read, his lips forming the words without saying them aloud. He looks up from the page at Sansa, disbelief etched across his handsome face, “it’s _you_.”

“Your grace?” Sansa frowns at him, confused.

“Aegon?” Visenya says, looking at him curiously, “what is it?”

“It’s her Visenya…the one Rhaenys spoke of,” Aegon says softly, the book still open in his hands. “She wrote about her the night before she left for Dorne.” He is silent for a moment before he adds, “Put her in the North tower.”

“Oh Aegon _please_ ,” Visenya scoffs, “Rhaenys had dreams all the time and not a single one of them ever came true. You can’t honestly tell me you actually believe that this farm girl is the girl from Rhaenys’s dream do you?”

“ _I dreamt she came on the wings of a storm on the back of a dragon the color of smoke…_ ” Aegon reads aloud from the book in his hands. “ _I dreamt her hair was a flame, burning as bright as dragon fire in the night._ ”

Visenya is silent as her burning gaze turns on Sansa, a mixture of anger and disbelief. It was clear she did not want to believe it but she would never second guess Aegon openly in front of strangers. Instead she calls the guards and has Sansa escorted from the room, the echo of a private conversation bouncing off the stone walls as Visenya turns on Aegon and leans on his desk, her voice adamant and concerned as the door closes behind Sansa.  She is taken to the other side of the castle and up the winding steps to a dusty old room with a four poster bed resting in the center. The windows are stained glass, describing visions of dragon battles across the ages. The room is empty save for the bed and a small desk and chair in the far corner. When the door clicks closed behind her she can hear the key turn in the lock and knows she is now a prisoner.

Trapped in another tower guarded by yet _another_ dragon.

The wind howls in the eaves above her head, rattling through the cracks in the stone and mortar. The bed is clearly unused and very old, and she has to shake the dust off before she can even sit on it.  It’s then that she breaks, in the silence of the tower and the lonely and pain aching in her heart, she weeps. For so long she held fast, it wasn’t the time to cry, it wasn’t the time to mourn. Survival was paramount; she had to get through this because those that she loves were depending on her right now to succeed.

She would never see Oberyn again….nor Ellaria, or Arya…Dany…Jon…Rickon…Uncle Benjen…

Names and faces and people she will never see again, places she will never go, things she will never do. Sorrow wells up in her heart like a living thing, sapping her energy until she passes out from exhaustion on the bed. Tears stain her cheeks and her fingers clutch the blankets beneath her as if searching for someone to comfort her, something to cling to in the storm of emotion welling in her heart.

 

* * *

 

“You _cannot_ be serious Aegon,” Visenya rounds of her brother as soon as the strange woman is gone. “She’s a farm girl afraid of punishment!”

“She’s no farm girl Visenya I told you; did you not see her mannerisms? She is highborn…but to which house I am uncertain,” Aegon says thoughtfully. “She has the Tully coloring I think.”

“She’s no prophecy child of Rhaenys’s,” Visenya argues, “Rhaenys was whimsical, but she was hardly a dreamer. There have been no dreamers since Daenys the Dreamer.”

“I never said she was a prophecy child,” Aegon sighs, watching his irate sister pace the length of his study, “You fret unnecessarily Visenya.”

“I worry for your safety,” Visenya tells him, “for the safety of this kingdom. How will we explain her? She won’t tell us from which house she hails…nor shall she admit her theft of that dragon---…”

“I don’t think she stole the dragon Visenya,” Aegon tells her, “I admit…it is curious. I wonder how she came by it?”

“She claims to have found it in the snow…rescued it and took care of it,” Visenya waves him off, “Lies…she’s clearly lying.”

“You are so quick to disbelieve sister,” Aegon muses as he watches her.

“I’m practical,” she tells him, “and grounded…as I thought you to be moments before you began reciting verses from Rhaenys’s journal.”

“I trusted Rhaenys’s judgement,” he tells her pointedly, “and I believed her.”

“You _humored_ her,” Visenya says sourly, “you marveled in her whimsical nature. You never believed a word of it.”

“I did,” Aegon argues, “I did and I still do…I always will…” he frowns, a flash of sorrow dancing across his face as he thinks upon his beloved sister. “ Go now…let me decide what to do with our guest. By chance…did you happen to catch her name?”

“No,” Visenya says blinking, “I hadn’t thought to ask.”

“Neither did I,” he sighs, “I was just caught off guard by her confession…of all the stories I expected from her I didn’t expect _that_.”

“See,” Visenya points out, “Skepticism. You didn’t really believe her dreams deep down and when one of them comes true you’re shocked. Denial doesn’t suit you brother,” Visenya says sourly before turning to leave.

“Neither does that attitude of yours sister,” Aegon counters, “It makes your sour disposition very nearly unbearable.”

Visenya freezes for a moment, fire burning in her eyes before she continues out, shutting the door silently behind her with a faint click.

 

* * *

 

She wakes to sunshine. It’s shimmering across her face and blinding her to her surroundings. She shivers in the early morning cold, the ocean breeze whistling through the stone. It smells like the sea in this castle she thinks, like spring and ocean water.  She manages to pry a window open and peers out, her long flaming hair billowing in the breeze behind her. She is high up, and from this place she can see everything. Down below she can see the village at the foot of the mountain, and the surrounding shoreline below. She worried about Blackfyre, but had a feeling he was well taken care of. These people were dragon tamers but heritage, and would know how to take care of Blackfyre.

She spends her time pacing the tower, listening to the world outside go about their daily business. It makes her ache for home, for the cold North or the warm shores of Dorne. It makes her think of a man with honey colored eyes and dark hair….

 _No_.

No she can’t do this now; she can’t start crying again. If she started to cry again she wouldn’t stop and she can’t afford to cry now. If they saw her a weeping mess she’d never have any respect from them, and the last thing she needed was for them to see her as weak. Though her heart was shattered into tiny pieces and her body was exhausted despite a night’s sleep, Sansa Stark stood her ground.

 

In fact, she didn’t have to stand for very long either, as not twenty minutes later the guards came for her. She was taken down into the great hall, a large room with a wide arched ceiling, depictions of dragons carved into the stone walls. Targaryen banners hung from the rafters and the windows were thrown open to let in the spring breeze. The conqueror himself was seated at the table in the center of the room, a plate of food set before him. She was escorted to a chair two down from him and across from her in the chair nearest to Aegon’s was Visenya. He doesn’t say a word to her though his demeanor appeared tense. Visenya takes a bite of her breakfast and shifts her purple gaze towards Sansa, it is both irritated and angry.

“Sister do you have any idea the trouble you caused me?” He says without ceremony, dropping his fork on the plate before him to look at Sansa.

_Sister?_

There were guards around them, servants passing through the room. This was not a place to have a discussion on genealogy but she didn’t even _look_ like a Targaryen. Sansa though, never one to back talk a King replied softly, “Forgive me your grace.”

“Hardly,” he scoffs, “You stole that dragon from the dragon pit and escaped across the country side. Did I not tell you to stay within these walls?”

“I…” Sansa trails off.

“Little sister if you refuse to heed our brother’s words you’ll find yourself locked away back in that tower,” Visenya says coolly, “as it is, we’ve ordered the rest of the northern wing open to you but it won’t be ready for a fortnight. You’ll have to stay in that tower for now.”

_What were they talking about? Had they gone mad?_

“More sweet wine your highness?” A young servant girl asks, offering a pitcher of cold sweet wine towards Sansa.

“Oh yes please,” Sansa says, she could do with a drink right about now anyways.

“I imagine we can find something more accommodating,” Aegon says thoughtfully.

“We’ll she’s not getting Rhaenys’s room,” Visenya tells him pointedly.

“Indeed not,” Aegon agrees though there is a stiffness in his shoulders at the mention of Rhaenys.

“The north tower is suitable,” Sansa says quickly, staring at her plate rather than at the two mad Targaryens before her. She knew madness ran in their family but _this_ …

Visenya finishes her plate and waves it away, leaning back in her seat to look at Sansa, “Fine, keep to that dusty old tower until the rest of the wing is ready.”

Aegon finishes his as well and wipes his mouth on a cloth napkin before standing, “Visenya you know what to do.” Then he’s gone, passing behind Sansa without so much as a backward glance. He seemed particularly cross with her, it did worry Sansa that she’d done something wrong to upset him. The last thing she needed was to be thrown into a dungeon…

“Come,” Visenya says and stands. Sansa’s hardly done with her plate but obeys regardless. Following Visenya up into the keep she begins to explain the rules. “Here is what’s going to happen. You are our half-sister from Essos, one we’ve kept hidden away for a while because our Mother passed and you had nowhere to go. Aegon took you in but because of your _heritage_ ,” Visenya smiles wanly, “the rest of the kingdom wasn’t aware of your existence until now. After our Lord Father died our Lady Mother married a man from the riverlands and the two left for Volantis. You were born there, grew up there, and when you’re Father went missing and our lady Mother passed, you came here looking for us.”

_Now it was starting to make sense…_

“I see,” Sansa follows Visenya, gazing around the castle as they walk. Visenya points out different rooms to her and explains the workings of the keep. “So I’m your sister,” Sansa nods thoughtfully to herself, “Alright.”

“You have the run of the keep,” Visenya tells her, “Only you aren’t allowed in the south wing, that belongs to Aegon. You aren’t allowed in the West, that belongs to me and the East wing belongs to Rhaenys. Nobody is allowed in there now,” Visenya says quietly, her gaze becoming distant, “not even me.”

Sansa nods, stopping to stand in a doorway and marvel at the huge room within. The walls are lined with books and scrolls. She wonders to herself how she missed this room when she was here the first time.

“Also,” Visenya adds as Sansa turns to meet her gaze, “Don’t think I buy your act.  You may be no farm girl, Aegon’s right about that but I somehow doubt just any highborn lady could be a dragon rider. Most of the women in this miserable kingdom are dainty and fragile. Believe me when I tell you,” Visenya says pointedly, “If you’ve got any secrets to keep or if you are a threat to Aegon or my family, or a threat to this realm I _will_ end you.”

It takes every ounce of courage she has not to step back, to stand her ground in the face of Visenya Targaryen’s fierce personality. It was clear the woman wasn’t hateful by nature but protective of her family and the realm. She seeks only to ferret out the threats, and Sansa could respect that. “I am no threat _sister_ ,” Sansa says aloud. She wouldn’t risk anyone overhearing them speak as though they weren’t.

“Good,” Visenya looks at her one last time before she walks off, adding as she goes, “And take off those clothes there filthy. I won’t have any sister of mine looking like that. I’ve had some of my silks sent up to the North tower for you. A tailor will be here in the morning to fit you for clothes.”

Sansa just stands there staring, blinking as the silver haired woman disappears around a corner.

How does she get back to the North Tower from here exactly?

 

* * *

 

Once she found the North Tower again Sansa opted to stay there rather than wander. She played the role of one of Aegon’s sister to the best of her knowledge, yet there still gaps. For example, what were her parent’s names? Where in Volantis did she grow up?  What house did her Father hail from here in Westeros? There were too many loop holes and to many ways for people to catch them in their rouse. It was easy enough to tell everyone that she was their half-sister by a forbidden marriage. Targaryen tradition went against such marriages and the family considered it shameful that the former Lady of Dragonstone ran off with a man from the Riverlands after the former Lord of Dragonstone died.

There were too many things she needed to sit down and work out with Aegon and his sister. Granted she couldn’t just stay here, she needed to find the key. However it would be good to have a roof over her head. Being from the royal family would have its perk’s as well; she would have the run of the realm and have access to everything.

Sighing Sansa stood up to look at the copper tub that was brought it by the servants and filled with hot water and soap, the scent of lavender and jasmine wafting in the air. It would be nice to have a hot bath once in a while too, and clean clothes to wear. The gowns Visenya sent up to her were a bit more revealing then was her taste however. Targaryen’s wore odd things, or so Sansa felt. Some of these gowns were particularly revealing around the waist and back, and some were a bit too low cut around her breasts. She would have to stomach it however if she were to keep up appearances and fit in.  Even her gowns back in Dorne weren’t nearly as revealing…

 _Dorne_ …

 _Bloody hell_ , Sansa thinks to herself. She was a princess of Dorne. Dorne was currently in the middle of a war with the conqueror if Sansa remembered correctly. Feeling around at her belt she feels the cool metal of the snake dagger one of Oberyn’s daughters gave her for her name day. If anyone caught her with this they’d recognize it was dornish made. Panic sets in for a brief moment, Sansa scrambling to find a hiding spot. When Sansa and Arya were still children, they had once shared a bed chamber. Often when Arya had things she ought not to she’d pry loose the stones of the floor and hide them beneath the stone, concealing it after with a rug or a table. Once she even hid it beneath her own bed.

 Looking around she slides her fingers along the floor, noting the crumbling mortar around one stone. With the dagger she pries it loose and lifts it free, a relieved smile curving her lips. Sliding the dagger down into the floor she replaces the stone and presses it down with her foot to ensure that it blends in.

Locking the tower door afterwards she strips out of her riding clothes and sinks into the hot bath that awaited her. It was nice to wash the cold from her skin and hair and sink into the sweet smell of flowers and soap in the water. Yawning she rubs her face tiredly, even though it was only mid-afternoon. Behind her a window was open; the fresh spring breeze carries the smell of the ocean upon it and the cry of seagulls outside. It was probably the most relaxing bath she’d had in months. When she was done she steps out of the tub gingerly, marveling at the feel of the spring breeze on her wet bare skin. It was embarrassing to think she went to breakfast that filthy, looking as if she’d just went rolling around in the dirt all the time. She takes her time combing out her long flaming hair, letting it dry in the breeze as she throws open the other windows to let in some fresh air. The outcropping outside was mountainous beneath her window, but she had the perfect view of the sea and the lands below. A knock at the door startles her and she glances back, her long auburn hair shielding most of her body from view as Visenya steps in and then quickly averts her gaze, “Bloody hell I _knew_ you were a farm girl. Why are you running about the tower _naked_?”

“I’ve just got out of the bath,” Sansa says with a narrowed gaze, having had quite enough of Visenya’s attitude, “and I’ve yet to dress myself.”

“Well I can _see_ that,” Visenya says sourly before shutting the tower door and stepping full inside. Keeping her gaze averted she walks over to the open window while Sansa scrambles to pull on one of the dresses she sent up.  “I’m returning to King’s Landing, I’m to hold court in the morning. Keep out of Aegon’s way while I’m gone. He mostly keeps to himself in his study but occasionally he’ll roam the keep. King’s Landing is where I live primarily, so I won’t be here very often. With you being here however I’ll need to check in once and a while.” She glances at Sansa and frowns. The gown Sansa wears is sky blue and gold, revealing the curves of her hips and waist and dipping low in the back to flare at the shoulders. “That’s much better…though your hair is absolutely horrid. You’re supposed to be Valerian,” Visenya sighs. She helps Sansa braid her hair in the fashion that it should be, showing her different styles. “I really don’t want to have to have someone come braid your hair every morning _honestly_.”

“I can braid my own hair,” Sansa tells her pointedly, “I just needed to learn the different fashions, they _do_ change you know.”

“Oh,” Visenya quirks an eyebrow at her, “look who’s sharpened her tongue.”

“My name is Sansa by the way,” she tells Visenya firmly, “if you don’t mind.”

“Sansa,” Visenya nods, “It’s a northern name but they don’t really have a monopoly on names do they?” Visenya sighs, scrutinizing Sansa’s appearance, “Good enough. Get someone to curl your hair, I have to go or I’ll be late for dinner with my son this evening.”

_Maegor….her son was Maegor the cruel…_

“You have a son?” Sansa quirks an eyebrow, pretending she wasn’t aware.

“Yes,” Visenya tells her, “His name is Maegor. I have another as well, Aenys. He’s technically a son by Rhaenys, but we’ve never tried to separate them by bloodline. He lives here with his Father, keep out of his way too. I don’t want him confused about you, so as far as he’s concerned you _are_ his aunt, Aegon and I agreed that we would rather the children not know the truth just yet.”

“Wait,” Sansa frowns at Visenya, “But wouldn’t he figure it out…I mean…your lady Mother…”

Visenya sighs and replies begrudgingly as it were something she really didn’t want to tell Sansa, “She really _did_ run off with a man from the Riverlands years and years ago after our Father died. We never saw her again until the day Aegon received a letter informing him of her death. It was from the man she ran off with, and he’s still alive in Essos somewhere. If we need too he’ll gladly vouch for you.”

“That’s so sad,” Sansa frowns at Visenya, “your lady Mother just leaving like that.”

“She knew the family was displeased about her marriage,” Visenya says quietly. “Anyhow, I need to go,” she tells Sansa as she turns to leave, “Keep out of trouble little sister.”

Sansa winces at the way Visenya addresses her, biting down on her lip to prevent any snide comment from breaking free. That woman was a piece of work, that was for sure. She understood however, that Visenya meant well even if she went about it in a rude sort of way.

 

* * *

 

With the Targaryen shrew gone, Sansa was free to roam without fear of reprimand. She explores the keep, ignoring the gaze of people who watch as she passes, whispering behind their hands to one another. The breeze flows through the windows openly and Sansa marvels in it, it was a soft cool caress against the bare skin of her hips and waist, her long auburn hair swaying down by her waist as she walks. She wasn’t entirely sure how to behave like a Targaryen; she’s never been one before. She was fairly certain however that the Valerian people had no qualms with showing a little skin, as Daenerys on many occasions did. So she walks with her chin up and her gaze firmly set ahead of her, pretending that walking about with so much of her body open to the gaze of others did not bother her.

She makes her way down to the dragon pits beneath the keep, smiling when she spots Blackfyre in one of the stalls. “There you are my love,” she coos to him gently, laughing at his sudden excitement upon seeing her. “Calm down, you’ll frighten the servants.”

“We’re trained to handle them your highness,” says a man in his early twenties, golden brown hair and bright green eyes, “Greetings,” he bows politely, “I’m Avery your highness, I’ll be tending to Blackfyre here.”

Sansa nods, “He’s just a babe, only a year. His training isn’t complete either.”

“Oh I’ll work on that,” Avery nods, “Never fear your highness, I’ll have Blackfyre ready for a rider in no time.”

“Thank you,” Sansa smiles at him and continues down through the pits. In one stall she finds Vhagar, but in the one next to it…

_Bang!_

Sansa jumps back from the bars of the stall gates, blinking up at the dragon before her. He was bigger than Drogon, bigger then Vhagar…bigger than anything she’s ever seen. Lowering its head she comes eye to eye, blue against gold.  His head was at least four or five inches taller than she was…and Sansa was tall. He was better than any story could ever describe him, terrifying and awe inspiring all at once.

“Best to keep back from the gate your highness,” Avery warns gently, “Balarion’s in a bit of a mood today.”

“You tend to Balarion as well?” Sansa blinks at the man.

“Oh no,” Avery smiles, “Only his grace the King does that. There isn’t a trainer within a hundred miles of here who’d go inside _that_ stall, and that includes me I’m afraid.”

Nodding Sansa steps back, taking in the sight of Balarion the dread. It was little intimidating, but Sansa felt almost honored that she had the opportunity to see this dragon. He was more then she could have ever imagined.

“Hello,” says another voice. Sansa glances in the direction from where it came and finds a boy standing there, not more than eleven or twelve at least, with short wavy silver hair and purple eyes.

“Hello,” Sansa replies, gazing down at the boy.

“Mind Balarion,” he warns her gently, “he doesn’t like strangers.”

“I can see that,” Sansa replies as she turns her gaze up to Balarion, “he’s magnificent.”

“He’ll be mine one day,” the boy replies with a glimmer of excitement in his eyes, “You must be my aunt from across the sea.”

_Aenys…_

“And you must be my nephew,” Sansa smiles at him gently, “Aenys, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he tells her, “what’s your name?”

“Sansa,” she replies with a warm smile, “Do you visit Balarion often?”

“Sometimes,” Aenys says to her, “Father says I’m not allowed in the stall though.”

Sansa biting her lip glances towards the big double doors at the end of the pit where it surely led outside. Glancing back down at Aenys she says softly, “Could you help me?” Sansa replies softly with a smile, “I’m a bit lost and I wanted to go down to the shoreline. It’s beautiful outside and I wanted to sit by the sea for a while.”

“I know how to get down there,” Aenys smiles at her, “My Mother and I used to go and sit by the sea all the time.”

_Rhaenys…._

She hadn’t intentionally meant to remind him of his Mother. From her own guessing she figures it’s been maybe a year since Rhaenys’s death. Swallowing her guilt, she smiles at Aenys and nods. She was tired of being coped up in this keep and wanted some fresh air. “I would be grateful if you would show me.”

Aenys smiles but then pauses as he turns towards the double doors behind him, “Oh,” he tells her, “but Mother said you weren’t to leave the keep.”

“Oh,” Sansa blinks at him as burning irritation with Visenya dances in the back of her mind, “I wasn’t aware of that how silly of me, I’m sorry.”

Aenys smiles at her mischievously, “she tries to boss me around too,” he tells her softly, “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Sansa grins at him, “I shan’t tell a soul.”

“Excellent,” Aenys grins as he takes her hand and rushes off for the double doors, Sansa following behind him.


	82. Chapter 82

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Present Day**

 

When Jon Snow carried Oberyn Martell back across Westeros towards Dorne, the winter worn people below saw a rare sight as they trudged tiredly towards the shore and to safety. As he passed over them it was an image straight from a poem or a story, summer blossoms floating on the breeze and gracefully fluttering to the ground.

When he reached the sea he spied in the distance hundreds of ships and boats of every different size floating just beyond Kings Harbor. It was on the Queen’s flagship that he found Doran Martell, or rather Doran found him first. Doran was ailing in his age and illness but his keen eyes spotted the Martell sigils craftily made from flowers and vines, weaved into the fabric of the net carrying Oberyn.

“Is…” Doran steps close to the side of the boat, a gasp loosing his lips and sorrow suddenly flooding his heart. His body felt heavy for a moment, realization dawning on him as Jon flies overhead, their eyes meeting for a brief moment before Doran says wearily, “Take him home.”

Jon merely nods his agreement and turns towards Dorne, the dragon, the rider and it’s precious cargo disappearing across the horizon. Daenerys had seen the same and steps beside the elderly Martell, a gentle hand on his shoulder, “I’m sorry.”

“He was the strength of Dorne,” Doran says tiredly, “he was the heart.” Tiredly he ventures on, suddenly aware of another presence missing. Where was Sansa? Has he lost them both? Turning he crosses the deck of the ship towards another who stands with a babe in her arms, “Ellaria,” he steps closer, the other woman looks as though she means to collapse. Her eyes on the horizon, Doran takes the babe from her arms as the tears begin to fall. “Where is Sansa?”

“I don’t know,” she whispers mournfully, dropping to her knees, “I don’t know.”

“Gone,” another voice, Arya Stark steps forth from the crowd on a boat beside there’s, “She’s gone to the tree beyond the wall.”

“Tree?” Doran pulls a face, the idea that his sister in law would go off alone to find a tree in the wilds beyond the wall was ridiculous. It would make sense however, that Oberyn would go after her. That must be what had happened, and what he saw only moments ago must be the result.

“The children called to her,” Ellaria whispers brokenly, “Oberyn went to find her, he did not want her to go alone.”

“The children of the forest?” Doran looks at Ellaria.

“I thought them a myth,” Daenerys cuts in, “Surely they are.”

“Not so,” Ellaria replies, “They are as real as you and I.”

“I’ve seen their magic myself,” Aegon’s voice now, from his seat near the cabin door. He is exhausted and yet he’s woken from the fever that held him tightly only nights before. Despite Daenerys’s worries he was determined to get out of bed and help. “I was with Lady Sansa at High Heart years ago and saw one myself.”

“ _Then why was she there_?” Doran is suddenly angry, confused and full of despair. His brother was dead, his sister in law was missing and nobody seemed to have _any_ answers for him. What happened to his brother? Who did this?

“Let my nephew take your brother home and when he returns I’m certain he’ll have the answers you  seek,” Daenerys says gently to Doran.

Doran says nothing but instead takes Ellaria by the hand, Oberyn the Younger lying against his right shoulder braced by his hand and the two of them go below deck to escape the eyes of the others watching them.

“And what about _us_ , your grace?” Asha Greyjoy’s voice echoes above all others from a ship nearby, staring Daenerys down with hard grey eyes, “What do we do? You’ve brought us out into the middle of the sea, to do _what_ exactly? Where do we go?”

Dany gazes upon the hundreds of faces, young and old that turn to look at her. Asha’s hard grey eyes are the most accusing, the most suspicious and doubtful. “I think many of you recognize that long ago Dorne did the very same thing to my great grandfather. Tell me what would you rather have,” Dany says to them all, “Dead Fathers…mothers…children, brothers, nieces and nephews….or living ones? Would you rather watch your sons and daughters die and be risen again only to be enslaved by their own murderers for the sake of your castles and farms? Tell me _which_ is a better option?” Dany meets all their gazes firmly with her own, “If they come, they arrive upon nothing but empty land. They conquer nothing and their very nature is to conquer. Tell me how do you conquer a kingdom when there is no one left to _conquer_?”

“So what do we do then?” Asha looks at her doubtfully, “Where do we go now?”

Dany meets her accusing gaze with one of confidence, “We go forward.”

 

* * *

 

“What did you find?” Sansa asks, watching the boy run up and down the beach from her seat on the warm sand. He drops to his knees beside her, showing her the shimmering sea shell in his hands.

“Isn’t it lovely?” he tells her, smiling.

“It is,” Sansa nods, “Did you know, if you press your ear to it you can hear the sea?”

“Really?” Aenys tilts his head curiously and does so, smiling at the sound he hears, “ _Wow_.”

“Yes,” Sansa grins at him and watches him run along the surf, water splashing at his feet as he goes. The two of them took a stone staircase built into the side of the mountain, hidden neatly from all save those who knew about it. It was a staircase put in so that the royal family could reach the beach without having to go through the village to do it.

“You’ve been here not more than a day and already you and my son have made an alliance it seems,” Aegon’s voice drifts towards her and she turns, smiling politely up at him as he walks towards her. “I was told by a servant that my son was seen on the dragon stairs headed for the beach with his aunt.”

“Forgive me your grace,” Sansa stands and curtsey’s neatly, “I wanted some fresh air and asked his highness if he knew how to get to the beach from the castle.”

“Please,” Aegon smiles at her, his lilac gaze shifting towards his son who was oblivious to the conversation at hand, “If I am to be your brother then you will call me Aegon in private, there isn’t any need for formality unless we are in public.”

“I’m sorry,” Sansa blushes brightly, feeling particularly dense all of a sudden, “Aegon.”

“Think nothing of it…?” He quirks an eyebrow at her curiously.

“Sansa,” she quickly provides, “its Sansa.”

“Sansa,” he smiles at the name, rolling it over his tongue thoughtfully, “Northern.”

“Yes your high--…Aegon,” Sansa catches herself as Aegon sits down on the sand and motions her to sit beside him.

“Forgive me for this morning,” he tells her, “It was only for effect. Servants talk more than anyone in Westeros, how do you think I found you?” He grins at her and she smiles back, turning her gaze from his handsome face and back to the sea. It reminds her of when she used to sit with Oberyn by the sea as his children played in the warm water.

“It’s fine,” Sansa tells him softly, “I understood why.”

Aegon nods and the two are silent for a while before he says, “I must know your reason for being here,” he tells her quietly, “If you are to live in my home and be near my children…I must know that you’re not a threat.”

“Do you think me a threat?” Sansa asks him, curious blue eyes meeting lilac.

“No,” he answers honestly, “you’ve a kind face and I have an eye for kind people. You don’t get to be where I am now without knowing how to read people. You are kind…but you are sad,” he tells her, “I see it sometimes…when you think no one is looking. Tell me, what brings you such sorrow?”

“My husband recently passed,” Sansa admits softly, “I loved him very much.”

Aegon nods thoughtfully, “My wife recently passed a year ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Sansa tells him, “it is a pain I wouldn’t wish upon anyone.”

“Agreed,” Aegon nods and then frowns, “I’m surprised you weren’t aware…everyone in Westeros knew of the happenings in Dorne. Where have you been to miss such things?” he asks, watching her curiously.

“I’m…” Sansa pauses, debating on what to tell him, “You know I really did arrive on that storm, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Aegon nods, “I believe you.”

“Well,” Sansa says tentatively, “I…I’m not sure what I should tell you honestly. It’s difficult to explain without you thinking me mad.”

“Try me,” he tells her, watching her intently.

“I’m not from around here,” Sansa says, struggling to explain without having to directly tell him she was from the _future_. It would sound completely bonkers if she was being honest, and she doubted even he would be able to believe _that_. “I’m from…really far away,” Sansa tells him, “and I was a princess. My people we’re attacked by beings from another land…Ice beings, a bit like…like…the children of the forest. I know that sounds mad but…”

“So what you’re saying is,” Aegon grins at her, clearly seeing through her rouse, “That you’re a princess from a faraway land that was attacked by ice monsters from another land.”

“Well when you put it like _that_ ,” Sansa scoffs a little, bristling slightly.

“You being a princess, that I can believe. You have the right mannerisms and presence for it. From a faraway land I don’t believe. Unless you’re from the North, now that _is_ quite far indeed, at least from here it is.”

“ _I’m from the North_ ,” Sansa admits begrudgingly, staring at the sea rather than at his face when he smiles at her admission.

“Finally,” Aegon says, “The truth of it, continue.”

_Oh what the hell…_

“I’m from the North, and a long time from now Westeros will be attacked by Ice creatures from beyond the Wall. They’re kidnapping entire villages and murdering them only to raise them from the dead and enslave them to their horrid army. I came here…you saw me arrive with that storm. It was magic but I swear to you I’m no sorceress and I’m not mad.”

Risking a tentative glance what she expects is disbelief but all she sees on Aegon’s face is contemplation before he says, “and these creatures…can they be stopped?”

“Yes,” Sansa swallows thickly, unsure if he’s just playing along or actually believes her, “I need to find a key…it’s an ancient magical relic created by the children of the forest. It’s meant to lock the seasons in place, that’s why spring and summer last so long. If I can find the key we can use it to unlock the seasons and drive the ice creatures back to where they came from.”

“And how pray tell,” Aegon quirks an eyebrow, “Do you plan on returning the key and yourself back to where you came from?”

“I,” Sansa closes her eyes, a sudden needle of pain piercing her heart at the thought of the words she must utter next, “There was only magic enough for a one way trip. I have to find the key, where it is in Westeros and put it somewhere my family can find it centuries from now. It’s made of Valerian steel so it should survive the ages well enough, I needn’t worry about that. I also have to sort out a way to tell them what to do with it once they have it, but even _I_ don’t know what to do with it once I have it.”

Aegon is quiet for a long while, quiet long enough that Sansa begins to panic. He must think she’s completely mad. Then what he says next catches her off guard, “Then we must find this key and see to it that your family finds it.”

“You,” Sansa blinks up at him, “You _believe_ me?”

“I can spot a liar easily,” Aegon tells her honestly, “You’re not lying to me right now, I can tell.” Then he smiles and looks up at his son Aenys who waves at him from afar. Aegon waves back as he adds, a distant sad look in his eyes, “My wife, Rhaenys…she used to have dreams and they always came true, every single one. Visenya never understood, but I did. I believe there is more to this world than meets the eye, and I though I haven’t ever seen one of these ice creatures, I believe you.”

“Thank you,” Sansa breathes a sigh of relief, like a weight lifting from her shoulders, “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that.”

Aegon smiles softly, “My library should help you,” he suggests, “I have maps of Westeros dating back to the days of the First Men. They’re very old and worn, but they might still be useful to you. The citadel’s been begging me to hand them over mind you,” Aegon grins a little, “but I shan’t be giving them up just yet.”

“Father,” Aenys says, running up to Aegon and Sansa, “I’m so glad you’ve come. Look what Aunt has shown me,” he tells Aegon, pressing the sea shell gently up to his Father’s ear, “Do you hear it Father? It’s the ocean!”

“Yes,” Aegon laughs as his knowing lilac gaze meet’s Sansa’s before turning back to look at Aenys, “I hear it son. Shouldn’t you be at your sparring practice though?”

“Oh,” Aenys pauses, a blush rising in his cheeks, “Father must I?”

“Yes,” Aegon tells him firmly as he glances between Sansa and Aenys, “Come, I’ll walk you both back.”

 

* * *

 

Dinner is a quiet affair.  It is only Sansa and Aenys at the table this time and the two eat and talk about their excursion from earlier.  Sansa’s grateful for the distraction and the stress of hiding her secret was no more, because Aegon knew and he actually believed her. Tomorrow she would go to the library and search the maps Aegon collected, hoping maybe she’d get an idea of where to start looking for the key.

“Father’s always busy,” Aenys says to his plate as he pushes a pile of green peas around on his plate with his fork.

“Don’t play with your food Aenys,” Sansa scolds gently, “and he’s the King, he’s going to be very busy.”

Settling into the role as sister to the King and a Princess of Dragonstone was rather easy when Sansa didn’t stop to think about it too much. Being someone’s aunt however, was totally different. Sansa felt a little guilty lying to Aenys as they all were, but she could see their point. It would be difficult to explain to him the truth, it was much easier to say she was his Father’s half-sister instead.

“I don’t like peas,” Aenys tells her, “They’re disgusting.”

“Then don’t eat them,” Sansa tells him, “but proper Lords do not toy with their food at the dinner table.”

“Yes Aunt,” Aenys sighs, setting his fork aside.

He needed to eat more vegetables, but Sansa hardly saw anything on the table that would do. She would need to make a note of that and have the servants bring up something different next time. If she was going to pretend to be somebody’s Aunt then she might as well be useful while she was at it.

“Did you enjoy sparring practice?” Sansa tries when Aenys silently stares at his plate.

“No,” Aenys mutters, “Lord Fartheling is a brute.”

“Why do you say that?” Sansa quirks an eyebrow at him.

“He’s mean to me, but Mother says he’s an excellent trainer and Maegor’s flourished under his tutelage. I tried to tell Father but he’s always _busy_.”

This boy was the crown prince…one day he’d be King.

While Sansa knew it was important that Aenys be trained as a warrior, it was also important that the boy had confidence in himself. If this sparring trainer was bullying Aenys and making a mockery of him, it would do the boy no good.  History tells that Aenys wasn’t a particularly strong King; he was more whimsical like his Mother. It saddened her to think Aenys wouldn’t live to see old age. Yet she was here now, and she’d do what she could to help Aenys.

“I’ll speak to your Father about it,” Sansa tells him gently.

“You will?” Aenys smiles hopefully at her, suddenly brightening, “Thanks.”

“On one condition,” Sansa says pointedly, “Tomorrow you’ll eat your vegetables.”

“Peas?” Aenys pulls a face at the question.

“No,” Sansa smiles, “I’ll have them bring up something different.”

“Agreed,” Aenys grins at her.

“Agreed,” Sansa nods as she takes a bite of the roast on her plate.

 

* * *

 

**Present Day**

In Dorne, Arianne Martell sits the throne of Sunspear. At her feet before her rests the body of her Uncle on a bed of summer blossoms. Jon Snow kneels behind him, his gaze to the floor. “I was instructed to return him home your highness, by his Lady Wife Princess Sansa.”

“And where is she now?” Arianne asks, standing so that she might kneel on the floor beside her beloved Uncle. A frown curves her lips as she touches his cold cheek, sorrow welling in her eyes at the sight of him. “What has happened to the Princess?”

“Gone your highness,” Jon tells her, “Prince Oberyn fell in battle slaying the Night’s King. The Princess escaped and has gone away, she’s been charged by the children to find a lost relic that would be the destruction of the White walkers.”

“On her own?” Arianne says, alarmed.

“No,” Jon shakes his head, “Her dragon Blackfyre has gone with her.”

“Well at least she has some kind of defense,” Arianne mutters more to herself then to him. She stands, looking towards the guards, “Take my Uncle to the sept and have them prepare him for his funeral. Send for his daughters as well I think, have them bring up his best spear and clothes.”

The guards nod their heads in respect and lift the body of Oberyn Martell on his bed of summer blossoms and carry it away from the dais and down towards the sept. Jon watches them go before he looks at Arianne, “Your highness…I must warn you. Westeros has been abandoned and there are hundreds of boats coming this way most likely.”

“So my Father has written to me,” Arianne nods, “I am aware of their need for refuge and Dorne is open to them, or at least as many as we can take without being overrun ourselves. There is little enough food to feed our own people let alone those of Westeros. I think we shall have to send part of them to Pentos as well, Braavos maybe. It will be our only option; we won’t have the resources to take them all on.”

“As you wish your highness,” Jon says softly.

“I believe,” Arianne says as she stands, “That this is the first time you and I have met Jon Snow. The last time I saw you I was, from what I understand, speaking to my dead brother in law.”

“Yes,” Jon admits quietly, “Twas my Father you spoke to last.”

Arianne nods, “Rhaegar was always a bit prissy,” she says and it catches Jon off guard enough to make him stumble over his words. Arianne laughs, her eyes dancing with amusement, “Don’t lie Jon, you and I both know your Father was keener with the harp then he was with the sword.”

“I wasn’t arguing that at all your highness,” Jon grins up at Arianne.

“Arianne,” she tells him, “We’re family I do believe. You may call me Arianne in private. Come, let’s get you something to eat and warm bed to sleep on. I imagine you’ve got to return home tomorrow yes?”

“Yes,” Jon nods as he follows Arianne from the great hall, “I need to warn Daenerys about the ice witch.”

“Witch?” Arianne frowns at Jon, “What witch?”

Jon looks at her and takes a breath, beginning his tale.


	83. Chapter 83

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

The library in Dragonstone was vast and complex. Aegon was a great collector of rare books and maps. Sansa took her time, examining every book and ever scroll and map she came across. In her time, these books were lost. Even the scrolls and maps in the Winterfell library (which housed the some of the oldest collections in Westeros) could not compare to this. She hums as she works, the tune idle but lovely. Her fingers were stained with ink over time, taking notes and checking maps. She wasn’t honestly sure where to start but she decided she would begin with High Heart. It was a place of powerful magic belonging to the children, and an excellent hiding spot if they meant to keep it from the ice witch in this time. Granted, it would be too obvious, and winter would come here eventually as well.

So where exactly could they hide the key that winter would never reach?

It was an impossible riddle (which the children are so well known for) she wished her Father was here. He would have solved it easily; he would have discovered the location. Oberyn would help too, Oberyn knew the lay of the lands even beyond Westeros, and could easily spot a problem.

Was it in Dorne?

No, even winter reaches Dorne eventually. It would have to be somewhere it never gets cold, somewhere that winter could never touch.  That would be the logical conclusion if she were to hide something of such significant value. Rubbing her face tiredly she groans in frustration. Her eyes were tired and her hands were cramping from writing. Standing she stretches, yawning. Voices nearby startle her from her revelry, and she glances towards the window. She’s been in this library since dawn and it was nearly mid-afternoon by now.

“I was just telling Argella what a lovely parade it’d been too, until it started raining of course,” A deep voice laughs from somewhere outside the library.

One familiar to Sansa as to be Aegon’s replies, “We’d not anticipated a storm that morning.”

“No,” The big burly man says as he steps into the library behind Aegon, “Storm’s often do what they want, don’t they?” he grins and then his sharp blue eyes find Sansa’s, “And _this_ must be that wily little sister of yours.”

Staring Sansa is reminded sharply of Robert Baratheon, and for a moment she is lost for words. When Aegon raises his eyebrows in gesture at her from behind the other man she quickly recovers, “My lord,” she says politely.

The other man bows respectfully, “Orys Baratheon your highness, Lord of Storms End.”

“It is an honor,” Sansa says as she unconsciously out of habit straightens the skirts of her gown just as her mother once taught her to do. It wouldn’t do to meet a stranger in wrinkled skirts.

“Aegon you didn’t tell me your sister was so lovely,” He grins at Sansa, “I trust your voyage here from Volantis went well?”

“It did,” Sansa smiles politely, “Thank you my lord.”

Orys grins and steps past her, walking over to one of the book shelves, “I think that book I mentioned was over here somewhere…”

“You’ve got ink on your cheek,” Aegon murmurs quietly as he walks past Sansa, following Orys to the shelf in question.

“ _Oh_ ,” Sansa’s eyes widen and a blush rises in her face as she quickly scrubs at her skin. Aegon only grins at her before turning to face Orys.

“You can borrow it if you can find it Orys,” Aegon tells him, “Though I haven’t a clue where it is.”

“It’s the one with the red binding,” Orys tells him, “you know…”

Sansa leaves them to it, closing her notes clutching the book to her chest as she starts for the door. Aegon notes her departure and calls after her as she goes, “No need to leave sister, I merely wanted to show Orys the library.”

“Its fine,” Sansa smiles, “I need some fresh air anyways…I’ve been in here all day.”

“Very well,” Aegon tells her, “Do as you will.”

 

* * *

 

“So that’s her is it?” Orys asks Aegon once Sansa’s gone, “That’s the girl your mother bore that man from the Riverlands?”

“Yes,” Aegon says as he helps Orys search for the book he spoke of.

“She’s a pretty one isn’t she?” Orys laughs, patting Aegon’s shoulder, “And that _hair_ …”

“That’s my sister you’re talking about Orys,” Aegon tells him and then smiles, pulling a red leather book from one of the shelves, “Ah, found it.”

“It’s a tricky business that,” Orys tells him, “What happened with your Mother.”

“I’d really rather not talk about it,” Aegon reminds him for the second time that day. Orys was determined to know the details.

“Oh come off it Aegon,” Orys says, “We’ve been friends for ages. You’ve only ever had two sisters and suddenly another pops up out of the blue with fire in her hair. What’s that about then?”

Aegon sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose wearily, “She had nowhere to go Orys. She’s my sister and I wasn’t just going to let her be thrown out onto the streets.”

“You gave that bastard more than enough gold to live comfortably with your Mother for all the rest of their days Aegon,” Orys says sourly, “Where did it all go?”

“He went missing,” Aegon tells him tiredly, “Not a clue what happened to him, nobody seems to know either. When Mother passed Sansa had nowhere to go so I sent for her to come and live here.”

Orys sighs, dropping heavily down into a seat near Aegon, “You’re a good man Aegon, taking her in like that. I know what it’s like to have nothing.”

“Yes,” Aegon replies, recalling the days when Orys was nothing but a bastard boy of the former Storm King.

“Well she’s certainly willful isn’t she?” Orys grins at Aegon, “Flying over the spring parade like that. Visenya as I recall was absolutely beside herself.”

Aegon nods, “She was cross as I recall. Sansa was only curious though, she hasn’t seen the Aegon fort as of yet.”

Orys nods, “Well if she wants some fresh air and you want her out of your hair for a while, send her to Storm’s End for a visit. I’ll see that she doesn’t get into any trouble and she can keep company with my daughter Serena.”

“Serena’s hardly ten and two Orys,” Aegon laughs a little, knowing exactly where Orys was going with this. Orys had a second child, a boy named Berys who was right around Sansa’s age…

“Still just as hospitable,” Orys counters with a grin, “My Serena’s the spitting image of her Mother I tell you.”

“I’m sure Sansa wouldn’t mind seeing Storm’s End,” Aegon says, not wanting to offend Orys but not wanting to let Sansa out of his sight either, “but I need my sister here to help me with these ridiculous tax proposals the citadel’s sent me.” He tells the lord of Storm’s End, holding up a stack of papers from a table nearby. “I tell you I’ll be old and grey before I’m done Orys.”

Orys laughs a little and nods, “Very well,” he says with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. Orys Baratheon wasn’t stupid either; he knew that Aegon was dodging him, “Maybe I can send my Serena to visit sometime.”

_He just never gives up does he?_

Aegon feels the mild annoyance in the back of his mind, knowing well that Orys was aiming for Aenys now. Aenys who was the crown prince, Aenys would was right around the same age as Serena. These Westerosi people simply didn’t understand or respect the traditions of his family or his people. It was irritating.

“Perhaps,” Aegon nods, “In the summer the village has a festival, I think Serena would enjoy it.”

“And that dragon,” Orys continues without preamble, flipping through the book he’d been searching for with delight. “Where’d he come from anyways? I’ve never seen the likes of him before.”

“A hatchling my Mother took with her to Volantis when she left with her new husband,” Aegon supplies with a sigh. Orys was full of questions today. “It must have hatched while she was in Volantis and she gave it to Sansa as a gift. Imagine the surprise Visenya and I got when she arrived on it.”

Orys laughs, “Yes, I can imagine that indeed, must have given you a nasty shock.”

“Yes,” Aegon smiles faintly, “He’s young too, maybe a year old. Sansa’s a natural born rider though; she has no problems training him.”

“That boy Avery’s taken over that though,” Orys says, “Was down in the pits this morning while I was waiting on you to get back from your ride. That Blackfyre’s beautiful…don’t you find it odd though, that she named him after your _sword_?” Orys grins at Aegon knowingly and Aegon has the decency to blush. He knew very well that Orys wasn’t referring to Aegon’s family sword, but a sword of a different sort completely…

“Probably just family tales that gave her the fancy to name him that,” Aegon waves it off, refusing to meet Orys gaze. His old friend could be rather obnoxious when he wanted to be. He knew Orys meant it all in good fun, but he knew what people thought of his people’s traditions, how it conflicted with the faith of the seven and of the old gods. Incest was forbidden and considered sinful in Westeros, and no doubt the rumors had already begun that Sansa was warming his bed too. 

Noting his King’s discomfort with the topic Orys changes the subject, “You’ve got to let her out of the keep once in a while though Aegon,” Orys tells him, “You can’t keep her locked up in here forever, she’s a princess now.”

“I will,” Aegon says, “Once she’s gotten accustomed to Westeros. When she’s ready I’ll take her to see the Aegon fort and meet the courtiers.”

Orys pulls a face at his words, “Those miserable gits,” he scoffs, “I can’t stand the courtiers.”

“Neither can I,” Aegon muses allowed, “Visenya is better suited to deal with them then I. She has more tolerance for their stupidity.”

Orys frowns at his old friend, “You’re still mulling over Dorne, aren’t you?”

“They killed Rhaenys,” Aegon says quietly, “I won’t let that go, they’ve gone too far this time.”

“ _You were burning their homes_ Aegon,” Orys argues, “I won’t say trying to conquer Dorne is a bad idea because it isn’t. If we bring them into the fold then everyone can be at peace at last. Yet burning their homes…” Orys sighs with a shake of his head, “It was a damn shame what happened to Rhaenys, Aegon. She was a good woman and a damn good Queen.”

“I think I’ve had enough of this topic Orys,” Aegon tells him flatly, anger boiling under the surface. Every time he thought of Dorne, every time he thought of Rhaenys’s beautiful face he burned with rage. She was the one light he had left in this world, the one thing that kept him strong. She was the buffer between he and Visenya, the glue that held their family together. With Rhaenys gone, he and Visenya could hardly stand in the same room together for very long without fighting.

“I’m sorry,” Orys sighs, “I didn’t mean to open old wounds Aegon.”

“It’s fine,” Aegon waves him off, “I’ll walk you out to the gates, I’ve got some paperwork I need to finish.”

Orys nods as Aegon stands, the two heading out to the main gates of the keep.

 

* * *

 

On his way back into the keep he notices her, curled in an alcove with her legs curled under her, staring out the wide arched mosaic windows. One was thrown open and she was watching the sea, her face a mask of contemplation and sorrow. It was the sorrow that made him pause on the way back to his study, pushing the paperwork that still needed to be done from his mind to instead go and sit with her.

“You look distracted,” he says gently, finding a spot to sit near her.

“I’m just tired,” Sansa smiles wanly as she looks at him, “I’ve spent the whole day searching and I still haven’t any answers.”

Aegon nods thoughtfully, “Sometimes the answer’s right in front of you but you won’t see it until you want to see it.”

“Enlightening,” Sansa smiles faintly at him.

Aegon laughs a little, “What I mean to say is, when you’re exhausted you won’t even be able to see the answer even if it were on the very tip of your nose. You should get some rest, proper rest…take a day to recover.”

“But I need to find the _key_ ,” Sansa presses urgently, shaking his head but stops when Aegon presses a finger to her lips and shakes his head.

“You need to _sleep_ ,” he says, noting the dark circles under her eyes. “When was the last time you ate something?”

“We’ll…I…” Sansa trails off, trying to recall.

_Dinner…the night before._

“Exactly,” Aegon nods as he confirms what he thought might be happening, “Dinner’s ready now, I was going to take my supper in my study, come and eat with me.”

“I…I…” Sansa stumbles over her words as he takes her arm and leads her up the stairs towards his study.

 

* * *

 

In his study they sit and eat roasted boar and goblets of sweet apple wine from Highgarden. Sansa is as quiet as possible while he works on the paperwork before him, occasionally sipping his wine or taking a bite of food from his plate. Whatever he was doing, it must be complicated. From her time as Wardeness she knew tax proposals when she saw them, and she was fairly certain that’s what he might be doing.

“There,” Sansa says as she clears her plate, “All done. May I be excused Brother?”

Aegon grins a little without looking up at her, still scrawling across the parchment before him, “So desperate to get away from me already are you?”

“No,” Sansa smiles, “I just…”

“Your mind is on your task,” Aegon nods, “I know an obsession when I see one. Especially when it’s driven by emotion.”

Sansa just stares at him and silently begins to wonder if he can read minds, “I’m not _obsessed_.”

“You are,” he smiles, “I know the feeling, believe me. I learned however, sometimes you have to just _stop_. Sometimes you need to sleep and rest and do other things before you can go back to the task at hand. I take it the death of your husband had something to do with finding the key.”

“It did,” Sansa bristles a little, unwilling and unable to speak of Oberyn with Aegon. The very thought of Oberyn steals her breath away, the pain is so sharp in her heart that her chest tightens and tears threaten behind her eyes.

Aegon seems to notice this and shifts a little, “I’m sorry,” he says, “I shouldn’t have brought him up. You must have loved him dearly.”

“I do,” Sansa admits quietly, “and every time I think of him I want to rip my hair out and go completely mad…I was helpless to save him.”

“I know the feeling,” Aegon replies, his voice suddenly serious as he stares at the parchment on the desk before him rather than at her, “When Rhaenys died…” he sighs and rubs his face, “I went mad.”

Sansa nods, “I recall the events somewhat yes,” Sansa tells him quietly.

“So it’s spoken of even where your from is it?” he says with a little frown, “I had hoped maybe I would resolve it eventually.”

“You will,” Sansa tells him suddenly, looking up at him. “You’ll sort it out.”

He smiles faintly, “That’s good to know. I think though that you ought not to tell me anything about my future for fear of changing it.”

“Agreed,” Sansa nods as she sips her wine, “I wanted to ask you…I know it’s not my place to ask you this, I’m just a stranger and I haven’t been here very long. I told Aenys I would tell you for him, he told me something the other day I thought you ought to hear.”

“Like what?” Aegon looks up at her now, frowning, “What is it? Is he alright?”

“He’s fine,” Sansa says quickly at the look of alarm on Aegon’s face, “he’s fine. He told me Lord Fartheling is bullying him during sparring practice.”

Aegon frowns, “Visenya told me he was the best in Westeros, he comes highly recommended.”

“I just felt…if he was being bullied it wouldn’t help his confidence in sword play or in life,” Sansa tells him softly, “I just…it’s not my place to tell you how to raise your son Aegon. I’m just a stranger here, but I just thought you ought to know.”

Aegon nods thoughtfully, “I’ll speak with Lord Fartheling about it,” and then after sipping from his own goblet, “I take it you’ve had children of your own.”

“No,” Sansa shakes her head, “My husband had children by other women, and I helped where I could.”

“He was unfaithful,” Aegon pulls a face at this, “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Sansa smiles faintly at him, “They came before he wed me. He saved me really, I was…where I’m from my family was murdered and my home stolen from me. I was a pawn in the Kings court, I was treated cruelly…and then he came along and offered to marry me, to take me away from Kings Landing to safety.”

Aegon considers this for a moment before he says, “From which family do you hail?”

“I…” Sansa debates this for a moment, “I’m not sure if I should tell you…I don’t know what’s safe to tell you.”

“I doubt telling me your surname is going to change history,” he smiles softly at her.

“Stark,” Sansa tells him, “My name is Sansa Stark.”

For some reason, saying her name is a relief. It was like a weight lifted from her shoulders and she could breathe again. “Sansa Stark….I’m a Stark.” She repeats with a sigh of relief.

“Stark?” he raises his eyebrows, “Torrhen Stark’s child?”

“Great grandchild,” Sansa smiles faintly, “Very great in fact.”

“I see,” Aegon smiles at her before he turns, pulling something from a desk drawer and setting it on the ornate oak table he sits at, “I’ve had a thought…and I wondered if it might help you. When Rhaenys died, I started a journal to help me vent my frustrations. I thought perhaps it might help you too.”

Sansa stares at the journal and then at him, “It’s…” she takes the dark brown leather journal and looks it over, sliding her fingers over the soft material, “its lovely…thank you.”

He nods, “I want you to write in it…speak your mind. It will help ease the pain in your heart I think.”

_The dragons wroth lasted for years after Rhaenys’s death; we both know you’re still angry…_

“Did it ease the pain in yours?” Sansa ventures tentatively, braving to look him in the eye as she does.

“Sometimes,” he replies without hesitation, lilac eyes meeting blue ones, “but I think you know that when we lose the people we love, there isn’t a power on earth that can ease the pain.”

Sansa nods, “I can understand that,” she tells him quietly.

“You know don’t you,” he says after a long pause, “What I did.”

“Yes,” Sansa answers honestly.

“And what do you think?” He asks her, curious lilac eyes on her face, “Did you think me in the wrong?”

“History isn’t my forte Aegon,” Sansa tells him softly, “but from what I do remember…” she sighs. “I can understand the pain you must have felt because I’ve felt it myself when my husband died. Helplessness…rage…grief…the inability to avenge the people you love. Never knowing what happened or why. To have the one person you depend upon most in the world, the one person you can’t breathe without, ripped out of your life all at once….” Sansa smiles bitterly, wiping a stray tear from her eye as she thinks of Oberyn, “Believe me I know, and if I had been in your position the rage in me would have burnt Westeros to the ground. However….” Sansa considers him for a moment, “When you began your conquest of Dorne you went about it the wrong way. Dorne is made up of a people who are descended from the Rhoynar. They came from the lands near Valeria. Once, a long while ago as you know your people largely dominated the islands of Essos and beyond, and the Rhoynar were often enslaved and conquered by the Valerians. It’s no surprise that they would rebel against the idea of being conquered Aegon. They would fight you with their very last breath rather than go back to be slaves or live under the yoke of yet another King. Unbowed…Unbent…Unbroken…” Sansa utters the motto of the Martell family, “Those are the words of the Martells. They live and breathe by those words…and you should heed them. It means never to kneel before another King or Tyrant.”

“Interesting,” Aegon considers her, “Meria Martell once told Rhaenys almost exactly the same thing when she went to Dorne the first time.”

Sansa nods, “They’re very serious about that motto.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Aegon says thoughtfully and then watches her for a moment, “Thank you for your honesty Sansa.”

“Your welcome,” She smiles faintly, wiping her eyes clean as she stands, “I shall let you get back to your work.”

Aegon nods and Sansa leaves, the leather journal clutched to her chest. That evening in her room as she sits upon her bed she writes, confessing the troubles that weigh on her mind.

_My name is Sansa Stark…._


	84. Chapter 84

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

On the day Visenya returns, one month has passed. The rest of the Northern wing has been cleaned out and opened, and Sansa is busy redecorating it. After a good long bought of work she retires to her bed chambers for a nap only to find that her bed is currently being occupied by Visenya herself.

Visenya is seated on the edge of her bed idly reading through the leather journal Aegon had given her. When Sansa enters she smiles and sets the book aside on the bedside table and stands. Behind her something glimmers on the blankets of her bed…the silver head of a snake…

_Oh no…_

“Hello dear sister,” Visenya says as Sansa shuts the door behind her and steps fully into the room.

“Visenya,” Sansa says uncertainly, her eyes on the dornish snake dagger currently resting on her bed.

“My brother told me a very interesting story about a princess from a faraway land this morning,” Visenya explains as she paces the length of her room and then smiles at Sansa.

“He told you did he?” Sansa says quietly as she watches Visenya.

“Yes,” Visenya smiles wanly at her, “So I took it upon myself to have a quick look about your room…I was wondering,” Visenya says as she motions to the dagger on her bed, “Would you mind explaining _this_?”

When Sansa says nothing Visenya smiles and continues, “I grew up here, I know every hiding spot there is in this keep.”

Yet more silence.

Visenya grins triumphantly and continues, “It’s dornish made isn’t it? I recognize the craftsmanship. Now what would an innocent highborn lady be doing with such a wicked looking dagger? You told Aegon you were a princess I believe? From which land are you a princess _of_ exactly?”

She was caught…there was no getting out of this…

“I am a Princess of Dorne,” Sansa says softly, “In my time…where I’m from we are at peace with Dorne. The conquest is completed.”

“A Princess of _Dorne_ ,” Visenya nods thoughtfully, “How’s that then?”

 “It was lovely,” Sansa says softly, “They were good to me.”

“Oh yes, lovely,” Visenya smiles wanly, “all that _hot sand and blistering heat_.”

Visenya’s sarcasm knew no bounds.

“So,” Visenya says thoughtfully, “That means you know all about Dorne…your one of them, you lived among them.”

“Yes,” Sansa frowns, trying to follow her train of thought.

“So…” Visenya clicks her tongue and shakes her head, “Oh never mind…”

“What?” Sansa presses and then she realizes where Visenya’s going with this. Sighing she asks her flatly, “ _What do you want_?”

Visenya considers her for a moment, a glimmer of something unreadable in her eyes, “Oh nothing…” Sansa looks worried for a moment before Visenya adds, “Oh but don’t worry,” Visenya reassures her, “ _I won’t tell_.”

“You _won’t_?” Sansa asks skeptically.

“No,” Visenya smiles at her, but Sansa has learned over the years never to trust a smile, “It wouldn’t help anyways.”

“Help _what_?” Sansa blinks at Visenya as the other woman turns to leave.

“I’d get that out of sight if I were you,” Visenya tells Sansa, motioning to the dagger, “Toss it in the sea to be safe. If anyone found that they’d think you an assassin from Dorne.”

With that said, Visenya left.

“Bloody hell,” Sansa breaths, dropping down to sit on the bed. She hadn’t realized how nervous she was until Visenya was gone. Visenya could have easily turned on her and accused her of being a traitor…

Quickly she replaces the dagger back beneath the floor and drags a rug from the window over the hiding place. She would need to find a new place to hide it but for now this would have to do. She wasn’t about to toss it into the sea, it was a gift from Tyene. It was all she had left from her family.

Taking a deep breath she relaxes and reaches for her journal and quill, needing to write down the events of the day. It was a good way to take her mind off things.

 

* * *

 

**Present Day**

 

When Jon Snow reached the Queen’s Flagship and explained to Daenerys the nature of the white walkers plan, Dany was at a loss.

“We need to destroy her,” Dany says thoughtfully, “but _how_?”

“I say we trap her,” Aegon suggests, “Lure her into the King’s Hall.”

“And then what?” Jon asks him, “Her voice alone will undo any man who comes near her.”

“Then it will be no man that faces her,” Dany says thoughtfully, “I will do it.”

“Out of the question,” Aegon says abruptly, “I won’t let you face that witch alone Dany.”

“I’ve faced worse,” Dany counters, “and I won’t allow this mission to fail because she’s ensnared both my nephews…I won’t risk anything happening to either of you. You two, will find the key. It has to be somewhere…”

“Not a clue,” Jon sighs, “Not a bloody clue and Sansa’s gone who knows where and can’t help us find it either.”

“Where’s she gone?” Arya cuts in, stepping into the tiny cabin beneath the deck of the Queen’s Flagship. How Arya got from one boat to this one, Jon didn’t even want to think about.

“Arya,” Jon starts, unsure of how to explain this to her, “It’s a long story…and I haven’t finished it all yet but,” Jon pauses, pulling an old worn leather journal from his coat, “This is explains it all, Where Sansa’s gone.”

“Well when is she coming back?” Arya asks, taking the journal and looking it over curiously, “What is this?”

“It’s Sansa’s journal,” Jon explains, “but it isn’t what you think.”

“Sansa never kept a journal,” Arya scoffs, “She’s too busy.”

“Arya,” Jon sighs, rubbing his face tiredly, “Look…” he takes her by the elbow and the two leave the room, instead finding a private place in an empty cabin down the hall. “Look,” Jon continues, “Sansa’s not coming back I don’t think.”

Arya falls silent and stares before suddenly, “ _What_?”

“She’s gone Arya,” Jon says quietly, “and she asked me to tell you…she asked me to tell you that she loves you and she’s sorry.”

“ _No_ ,” Arya shakes her head, “This is _sick_ …that’s a lie…this is just some _sick joke_ …she’s not _gone_ , she _can’t_ be _gone_!”

Jon just stares at her silently and Arya has her answer. Arya stumbles backwards and drop down onto a bunkbed, staring blankly ahead of her, “Where is she Jon?”

“I don’t know…but the way the journal’s written…she’s gone far away,” he tells her quietly, “far, far away.”

She is quiet for a long while as the anger builds inside her, slowly she begins shaking her head and utters flatly, “ _Fuck you_ ,” she suddenly snarls and throws the book in his face, “ _You’re lying_ …your lying _and she’s coming back_!”

“Arya!” Jon shouts as she runs out of the cabin and down the hall. He follows but she’s too fast, already she’s on deck and heading back towards her own ship. “Arya…” Jon breathes into the wind as she disappears over the side of the ship, swinging on a rope and landing gracefully onto the deck of her own ship.

“Let her go,” Asha Greyjoy’s voice cuts into his thoughts and he turns to look at her, hard grey eyes meeting dark brown ones. “You’ll never get her talking when a woman’s in a mood like that. You let her go for now and you tell me what the _fuck_ is going on and how the fuck we get our home back.”

 

* * *

 

 “But I don’t want to go!” Aenys’s voice echoes down the halls, stirring Sansa from the book she’s reading in her private chambers of the North wing. Here she had free reign to do as she pleased, a wide open parlor to lounge in, a stone balcony to sit upon and gaze at the sea, and best of all, _a bathroom_. A real one, a stone bath built into the floor that can be plugged and filled with hot water whenever she wanted. Yet the only fault with the North wing was that it echoed every conversation in the whole castle…then again every other wing probably heard the same thing. Aenys was speaking so loudly Sansa thought he might just be angry. Stepping tentatively out into the hall she peers around the corner to see Visenya kneeling before Aenys, straightening his tunic, “You must go my love,” she tells him gently, “Tonight is the King’s banquet.”

“I don’t care,” Aenys frowns at Visenya, “I don’t like the courtiers.”

“ _Nobody_ likes the courtiers Aenys,” Visenya smiles wryly at him.

It was admittedly odd to see Visenya so gentle with someone. She’s never heard anything but steel in Visenya’s voice whenever she speaks to anyone else.

“It’s going to look odd if we don’t bring her Visenya,” Aegon’s voice now as he walks down the hall towards Visenya and Aenys. Sansa dives back into her chambers, hoping he didn’t see her.

“We’ll just tell them she’s _sick_ ,” Visenya sighs, “I won’t have her embarrassing us in front of the entire court. That hair of hers…did you hear what there calling her Aegon? _The Red Targaryen_ ,” Visenya says sourly, “It’s ridiculous and _embarrassing_.”

_The Red Targaryen?_

Sansa has to bite down on her lip to keep from giggling. It was the most ridiculous moniker she’s ever had. Some people used to call her the Queen in the North or The Wolf Queen, but never anything like _this_. It almost made her some _fearsome_.

Aegon is silent on the matter for a while as he and Visenya along with their son head down into the great hall. Sansa follows silently, padding across the stone floor with bare feet. The skirts of her gown lifted just high enough so she can run if need be.

“I still think she should be there,” Aegon says thoughtfully, “To leave her behind would make a statement.”

“Yes,” Visenya tells him, “It would say that our little sister is ill,” she tells him as a servant passes, “and we want her to get well. I’m not risking her health for a banquet Aegon.”

“Very well,” Aegon relents as he watches that same servant out of the corner of his eye; scurry up the stairs and out of sight. “Don’t think we’re done talking about this,” he adds in a whisper as he passes Visenya, looking perfectly irritated. She waited for that servant so she could turn the tables on him and get her way. That was something he wasn’t about to overlook, his sister tried to play that game far too often. They couldn’t keep Sansa hidden away in the keep forever; she had to be presented to the kingdom at some point.

The only problem however, one which Visenya did point out was that eventually _someone’s_ going to try and make a match with her. The Targaryen’s did not marry outside their own family and the Velaryon’s had no sons he could wed Sansa to. They were the closest family of Valerian decent he could find in Westeros, and he had plans to match their daughter Alyssa to his son Aenys when they both came of age.

Visenya quirks an eyebrow at him, obviously challenging him to try his hand at an argument with her. Instead he turns his back on her and heads towards the North wing. “Remind her to stay in bed and get some rest Aegon,” Visenya says loud enough for the whole hall to hear as he goes, “She needs to get well.”

Sansa, wide eyed as Aegon ascends the stairs turns and darts back down the hall, nearly sliding right past the double doors to the North wing as she goes. Quickly she darts inside and dives for the soft red leather sofa in the corner, grabbing the book she’d been reading earlier and flipping it open. She would _not_ be caught snooping.

* * *

 

A light knock at the entrance to the North Wing echoes in the room and she looks up from the book, “Enter.”

Aegon steps in, peering at the book in her hands before meeting her gaze, “Your book’s upside down.”

“Oh,” Sansa blushes brightly and sets it aside, “I just picked it up, I hadn’t noticed.”

_Why does he have to be so bloody observant all the time?_

Aegon grins knowingly but says nothing, “Visenya and I are taking Aenys to the Aegon fort. The Kings Banquet is tonight. I really don’t care for Banquets or Tourneys, but Visenya insists that Aenys should be there and I need to make an appearance once in a while.”

“Oh,” Sansa nods, “I see.”

“Yes,” Aegon says tentatively, “We’ll tell them you’re sick,” he explains, “Just convince the servants of that while we’re gone and everything will be fine.”

Sansa nods, pretending that being left behind isn’t bothering her at all, “Of course.”

“You understand,” Aegon continues, “it’s nothing to do with you….it’s more to do with the people. They’re all very curious about you and we intend on presenting you at some point, we just haven’t decided from which angle we’ll do that from just yet.”

“Angle?” Sansa quirks an eyebrow.

“You’re a Targaryen,” he points out, “We…we’ll,” she shifts for a moment and he almost seems _uncomfortable_ , “You are aware of our Traditions are you not?”

“Yes,” Sansa blinks at him, still not quite understanding…and then suddenly she does. “Oh, _oh_ ,” Sansa’s eyes widen, “Oh I see.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Aegon grins slightly, “You see the problem now.”

“We’ll,” Sansa smiles faintly, “I won’t be here for any longer then I need to be,” she tells him softly, “You shan’t have to worry about any of that I don’t think.”

Aegon frowns, “Where are you going?”

“We’ll,” Sansa blinks at him, “I…we’ll I really don’t know honestly, but I can’t just stay _here_ can I? I’m making all sorts of trouble for you. I don’t want you to have this kind of stress Aegon, I really don’t. I figure I’ll find the key and then Blackfyre and I will just _go_ …you know I’ve never been to Braavos or Pentos…I might just go and see what’s over there.”

_Anywhere to get the weight of my burden off your shoulders…_

Truth be told, Sansa had no idea what she’d do once her task was complete. She had no family here, no one to turn to. It frightened her to think she and Blackfyre were alone, but that was something she couldn’t worry about right now.

“Your no trouble,” Aegon tells her honestly, “If you we’re I’d put you somewhere else. I’d hardly throw you out onto the streets now that you’re here. You’re more than welcome to stay here and live with us.”

Sansa opens her mouth to protest but Aegon continues, “Besides…it’s what Rhaenys would want me to do anyways.” He smiles faintly, “and Aenys likes you, he’d be sad to see you go.”

“Oh,” Sansa blinks at him, “We’ll…if you insist…I mean,” Sansa stammers over her words, not expecting such an offer, “I would be honored…and I’d be no trouble or I’d try not to be at least,” she laughs a little, slightly nervous, “I mean…I just… _how are you going to explain me_?”

“We’ll figure something out,” he smiles at her, “You could be a septa like Visenya suggested.” When he sees Sansa’s horrified expression he adds with a laugh, “Yes, I thought it was a terrible idea too.”

“ _A septa_?” Sansa echoes, mildly appalled, “I’d rather not if you don’t mind.”

_She was going to rip that Targaryen shrew’s hair out for suggesting that…_

“We’ll think of something,” Aegon tells her, “For now… _pretend you’re sick_. I need to go before Visenya comes looking for me.”

“Be safe,” Sansa smiles at him and he stops to look at her quizzically, an odd expression on his face. “What?” she adds with a confused look on her face.

“Oh nothing,” he says with a shake of his head, “Rhaenys used to say that to me before I left.”

_Well it was a common saying…how was that so special?_

“Oh,” Sansa nods, “Um…sorry, I didn’t mean too---…”

“No it’s fine,” Aegon waves her off, “Forget about it.”

Sansa just stares at him and he just stares at her before suddenly he turns and departs through the wide double doors of the North chamber. His abrupt departure was odd, like he suddenly couldn’t figure out what to say and just sort of _left_.

She goes to pick up her book again and suddenly he’s back. She sets the book down again and looks at him curiously. He opens his mouth, closes it and then shakes his head, “Nothing, nothing,” he says without her even having to ask. “Be well.”

“You too,” Sansa says, curiously watching him go.

_What an odd man._


	85. Chapter 85

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Present Day**

 

She behaved as if the book was a poisonous snake and it was threatening to bite her. Jon had left it on the table beside her bed before he left with Dany to assess the situation at the Red Keep. They were planning some sort of trap for a witch Jon claimed the white walkers had.

“You can’t do this to me,” Arya says aloud to the ceiling as if Sansa could hear her, “I _can’t_ be Regent.” Turning her gaze towards the book she adds, “I _hate_ you. I hate you for this. _I hate you_!”

“Arya?” Rickon stirs in his sleep and she winces, cursing herself for waking him.

“Go back to sleep Rickon,” Arya tells him with a sigh.

“Are you mad at me?” Rickon frowns at his sister in the dim light of the cabin.

“No,” Arya tells him, “go back to sleep.”

“When’s Sansa coming back?” He asks and Arya winces again. She hasn’t even tried to tell Rickon about Sansa because she doesn’t even understand herself. Finally with a sigh she picks up the journal and begins to read.

_My name is Sansa Stark…_

* * *

 

**Present Day**

 

“I don’t know how you expect _me_ to find this key,” Tyrion tells Dany.

“You’re good with books,” Dany says, “and books are all I can think of to start with right now. It’s lost and it’s ancient…and you’re good with ancient books. Search the archives, search _everything_.”

“What about the white walkers,” Jon says as he motions towards the crownlands behind him, “They can’t be far off.”

“We’ll have to keep them busy while Tyrion searches,” Dany explains, “I’ll deal with the witch. I want you two to stay here and help Tyrion search.”

“I’m coming with you,” Aegon says pointedly.

“Aegon,” Dany shakes her head gently, “I need you here with Jon. You can’t ride, you can barely walk. Your leg is still healing.”

Aegon opens his mouth to protest but Tyrion jumps in quickly, “Jon tells me the children mean to join the war because of you,” Tyrion tells Aegon tentatively, “I wonder why that is.”

“I haven’t a clue,” Dany says, “I don’t recall Viserys ever telling me about anything like that.”

“He wouldn’t know though,” Tyrion says, “would he? If your family was related to the Starks or the First Men somehow. I imagine it would be something your family would want to keep hidden.”

“I _think_ if my great grandfather knew he had the blood of the First Men in him he’d play that to his advantage when he was conquering Westeros,” Dany points out flatly.

“True,” Tyrion considers it thoughtfully, “It _is_ a riddle, isn’t it? Aegon I’m going to need you to translate some of the text. My high Valerian is a bit rusty I’m afraid.”

“Very well,” Aegon says begrudgingly though he had to admit he was a bit curious as to why the children suddenly decided to start a war over him.

“Speaking of which,” Dany says, “If the children are coming to aid us… _where are they_? Why haven’t we seen them?”

“ _You humans_ ,” a gravelly voice says from somewhere behind them in the dark halls of the Red Keep, “You see but you do not _see_. Have you not wondered why the white walkers have stopped?”

“Stopped?” Dany steps forward, facing the child. He had long curly brown hair and wore dark green trousers. In his hand was a sharpened spear.

“We will hold them off,” the child tells her, “Find the key.”

“How are we supposed to do that?” Jon counters, “I thought Sansa was supposed to find the key.”

“She’s already found it,” the child tells him, “Now _you_ have to figure out where she put it.”

“But she just left!” Jon argues, confused.

“She just left days ago, but she’s been here for centuries already,” the child replies oddly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jon blurts out, frustrated.

“It means,” Tyrion says thoughtfully, “That Sansa’s back…and she’s been back for a long time now.”

“If she’s back,” Jon says pointedly, “Then _where is she_?”

“That,” Tyrion says quietly, “I’m not certain of.”

“Hurry now,” The child urges them, “We will hold them off. Find the key.”

“You’ll need help,” Jon says, thinking of Viserion.

“We have fought off the white walkers and their hordes of the dead long before you were even born boy,” the child tells Jon, “We need no help. Just find the key and destroy it.”

“You’ve got a _spear_ ,” Jon says dryly.

“We have _magic_ ,” the child replies as hundreds of torches all flare to life at once inside the keep, filling it with warmth and light.

“Well I’m sold,” Tyrion says, wide eyed as he looks around the keep in awe.

“Me too,” Dany agrees, surprised by the sudden burst of light inside the keep.

“Why the hell not,” Aegon sighs, “Let the wildling forest people protect us for a while.”

The child hisses irritably, “Don’t associate us with your savage human tribes.”

“Go,” Jon tells the child, “I can see I’m outnumbered here.”

The child nods, “Hurry…be swift and don’t dawdle. Our numbers aren’t as great as they used to be, we won’t be able to hold them off for long.”

“Thank you,” Dany tells the child, “For helping us.”

“We’ll be quick,” Jon nods to the child as he watches the child watch Dany for a moment, a slight tilt of his head in acknowledgement to both Dany and Jon before he runs off into the darkness somewhere. Jon turns to look at Tyrion, “Let’s find that key.”

* * *

 

“Keys…keys…keys…” Sansa murmurs aloud thoughtfully, flipping through book after book, after book, about keys and different types of keys. Why would Aegon even _have_ a book on keys? What use could the conqueror actually have for such a dull book anyways? She’s been through the whole book twice and read about keys used for cabinets all the way up to the types of keys used in ceremonies.

No magical weather changing keys.

“Crimney,” Sansa curses aloud in frustration, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

She didn’t honestly expect to find some book in Aegon’s library that would instantly tell her where to find the key. She just wanted a little help, just a _hint_ even.

Absolutely nothing and she still hasn’t even an inkling where the key might be.  Shivering she pulls the gown down a little more, irritated with the material. The tailor was still working on her gowns and wouldn’t be done for another week. She’s been stuck wearing all of Visenya’s gowns for ages now. This one in particular showed off just a little too much of her midsection for her liking. Fortunately, Aegon was still in Kings Landing and wouldn’t have to witness it.

Unfortunately, she had to endure the lustful eyes of servant men and passing lordlings that show up at the gates claiming to they wanted to visit the King but Sansa knew they were just secretly trying to get a look at her. She knew that’s what it was, so she gave them an eyeful and greeted them with kind words before sending them on their way. She pretended to be sick for a few days and then recover, just to make sure the servants wouldn’t talk. Afterwards, as the days passed Sansa found herself in control of Dragonstone. It wasn’t a task Aegon warned her about having to take over, but since she was supposedly his sister and now a Princess of Dragonstone, the servants and staff likely assumed she was regent until he returned.

They needed the help anyways.

Sansa really couldn’t help herself, she noted the schedule was off for the serving staff, the dragon pits needed cleaning and Avery was requesting a new saddle for Vhagar. Those things she didn’t dare touch, it wasn’t her gold to spend.  She did however answer the questions that needed answering, greeted the random Lordlings who came to visit and decided the meal schedule so the cooking staff knew what to serve each day.

“I leave for a few days and when I return I find my castle is under new command,” Aegon’s voice hums in the library.

Sansa looks up at smiles at him, “I hope you don’t mind, it was just a few unanswered questions and some nosy lordlings.”

“Not at all,” Aegon says as his keen eyes look over the book she’s reading, “ _A Key For Every Lock.”_

Sansa blushes brightly, “It was worth a shot.”

Aegon grins, “Did you find anything?”

“No,” Sansa grins back, “but I did learn the difference between a cabinet key and a dungeon key.”

“Did you really?” he chuckles, amusement dancing in his lilac eyes.

“Yes,” Sansa laughs a little as well, “why _exactly_ would you have a book like this anyways?”

“It was my Father’s,” he explains to her, “He collected a lot of random books in his day.”

Aegon drops down onto a sofa and watches her, Sansa standing from the table she sits at to drop down beside him and curl her legs up under her. “Tell me about your Father…who was he?”

“His name was Aerion,” Aegon tells her, “My Mother’s name was Valaena from the House of Velaryon.”

“Valaena,” Sansa echoes, letting the name roll off her tongue, “it’s beautiful.”

“She was beautiful,” Aegon tells her, “and kind…brave. I suppose that’s why my Father loved her so dearly.”

“Why did she run off with…” Sansa trails off, knowing she’s been caught.

_Damn…._

“Visenya told you did she?” he quirks an eyebrow at her with a heavy sigh before he continues; “My Mother loved my Father. Yet when he grew ill she took care of him as best she could. She befriended a man from the Riverlands; he’s of a distant relation to the Tullys so he’s got the same red hair as you do. I remember the day I met him, six or seven months after my Father died. He wanted to marry my Mother and I…” Aegon sighs tiredly, “I allowed it because he made my Mother happy.”

“But you knew your family would disprove,” Sansa says, leaning her elbow on the back of the sofa and her chin on her hand as she listened to his tale.

“Yes,” he tells her, “regardless of what the family thought. I gave them gold enough to live comfortably for the rest of their days and wished them well. They sailed for Volantis.

“I’m sorry,” Sansa frowns softly, “That must have been hard for you.”

“It was,” Aegon says quietly, “I oftened wondered how my Mother was. What her life was like…she wrote to me though. It was the only thing I had to tell me how she was doing. When I received a letter from her husband informing me of her death…I wanted her to be brought home so that I could give her a traditional Valerian funeral. He agreed to it and brought her home…we burned her body by dragon fire in the way of our people and after that…her husband went back to Volantis.”

Sansa nods, “My Mother was a Tully.”

“Which would explain your red hair,” he grins, “I knew I was right.”

“The Tully’s don’t have a monopoly on red hair you know,” Sansa tells him with a half-smile.

“I know,” he says as he catches a lock of her hair in his hands and rubs it gently between his fingertips, “but this sort of red…only the Tully’s have it.”

“So I should probably get my story straight,” Sansa says quietly after a long while, “My Mother’s name is Valaena, my Father’s name is…?”

“Ronard,” he smiles faintly at her.

“Ronard,” Sansa nods, “I’m from Volantis…I grew up there…and Blackfyre…?”

“Mother gave him to you as a gift after he hatched,” Aegon tells her, “she took a dragon egg with her to Volantis after she married Ronard.”

“I see,” Sansa nods thoughtfully.

“So,” he says, thinking of something from an earlier conversation with Orys, “Why did you name him Blackfyre? You _do_ realize that’s the name of my family sword don’t you?” he grins as he says this, his mirthful lilac eyes on her face.

Sansa blushes brightly, “Before I came here…before I found Blackfyre, I kept dreaming about your sword---…” Sansa pauses and blushes even brighter but thankfully Aegon doesn’t comment, “what I mean to say is, I named him after the Targaryen family sword Blackfyre, because I kept dreaming about that same sword on the Iron Throne. It just sort of…popped in my head really.”

“You have dreams too?” he quirks an eyebrow at her, a funny sort of look in his eyes as he watches her.

“Not…” Sansa pauses, “Not like Rhaenys. I’m a greenseer…I have the blood of the children in me. Sometimes, I dream about future events but they don’t make sense….like the Targaryen family sword…I think that it was symbolizing _you_ sitting upon the Iron Throne.”

“Rhaenys’s dreams were usually straight forward,” he says thoughtfully, “She saw future events in vivid color often…I remember one time she foresaw an assassination attempt on my life in Kings Landing. She started screaming in her sleep and woke half the keep.” He frowns faintly, his gaze nostalgic, “That dream came true shortly after her death. If Visenya hadn’t been there to defend me…” Aegon trails off.

“I’m glad she saved you,” Sansa tells him honestly with a soft smile, “You’re a good friend to have.”

“We’re friends then?” he grins at her.

“We’re brother and sister if I recall,” Sansa tells him with a smile. Then she pauses, frowning as if something had just occurred to her, “Aegon…why did you tell everyone I was your sister?”

He sighs, leaning his head back on the back of the sofa, tilting his head to the side to look at her, “You flew right over the Aegonfort on Blackfyre the day you came here, right in the middle of the spring solstice parade…the whole kingdom saw you. Nobody could possibly miss these flaming locks of yours,” he tells her, pulling on a lock of her hair gently, playfully.

“I,” Sansa’s eyes widen, “I don’t really remember that…I was a bit out of it at the time. I do recall music and voices... I thought I was _dreaming_.”

“No,” Aegon smiles wanly, “Not dreaming, just party crashing.”

Sansa giggles and covers her mouth, a blush rising to her cheeks, “and it _rained_.”

“ _And_ it rained,” he grinned and nodded. “Anyhow, I’ve only been on the throne for a few years now. The kingdom’s only ever known three dragons, three riders. If someone randomly showed up with another dragon their going to think us weak. It’s better for them to think I have a wayward little sister then them thinking someone stole one of my dragons.”

Sansa nods, “That makes sense.” She stretches, yawning. Looking over at him thoughtfully she adds, “I was Wardeness of the North for six years…I know exactly what it’s like to scramble and try to cover up any weaknesses people might find in you.”

He nods thoughtfully, “That’s a tough job to do on your own.”

“My husband helped,” Sansa shrugged with a smile, “he was a good man.”

Aegon nods, “Rhaenys did the tax proposals.”

Sansa laughs at his confession, watching the blush rise in Aegon’s cheeks before she replies, “My husband handled the books…I’ve a terrible mind for numbers.”

Aegon chuckles, his eyes full of mirth, “I’ve no problem with numbers but Rhaenys knew I hated doing them and offered to do it for me.”

Sansa nods and yawns again, “I think it’s time for bed.”

“As do I,” he agrees, “I’m exhausted.”

Sansa stands and stretches, her eyes widening as the cool air caresses the bare skin of her waist. Quickly she recovers, trying to pretend as though it doesn’t bother her. She’d forgotten all about her bareness and Aegon more than likely got an eye full.  Turning she swallows thickly and forces a smile to her lips when she looks at him, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he says and frowns a little, tilting his head to one side, “Is that one of Visenya’s gowns?”

“Yes,” Sansa blushes.

“Has she not ordered new gowns for you?” Aegon asks, seeming slightly perturbed all of a sudden.

“She has,” Sansa tells him, “They’ll be ready in a week.”

He nods though he is still frowning, “It shouldn’t take so long.”

“It’s fine,” Sansa smiles faintly, “The gowns fit well.”

“Your uncomfortable,” he points out, “I can tell by the way you’re standing.”

“They’re…” Sansa pauses, searching for a word that wouldn’t insult Visenya or Aegon, “A little different then what I’m used to.”

“Yes,” he nods, “Northern women usually bare very little if I recall. If you want I can send for something a bit more conservative.”

“No,” Sansa smiles, “It’s fine, I’m getting used to it. I’m just not used too…” Sansa pauses, her fingers sliding over the bare skin of her waist, “ _This_ ….it’s rather drafty actually.”

When his eyes drift over her bare hips and waist she blushes brighter, feeling incredibly stupid all of a sudden.

_Great…draw his attention to it…good job…_

“Well,” Sansa smiles, “Goodnight then.”

Then it was her turn to leave abruptly, all the while being aware of the fact that her back was bare clear down to her waist, and he was probably getting an eye full of that too. She honestly didn’t mind showing a little skin, the dornish gowns she once wore showed off a great deal of her shoulders and back, but her hips…her waist…her breasts…that was too much.

_Please let the Tailor’s hurry up…_


	86. Chapter 86

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

_Twas the light of a summer’s morning_

_When I saw my lover first_

_His eyes were like rare jewels_

_His lips were the softest kiss_

Sansa pauses from reading to look up, the early morning sea breeze in her hair. She sits on the beach atop a boulder, a book of poetry in her hand. She’d found it in the library and had a sneaking suspicion it once belonged to Rhaenys. She’s been up since before dawn, unable to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she would dream again, and the dreams made no sense. She couldn’t work out their meaning; she’d never dreamed anything like it before. It was the same one, the one where she was falling, the warm sun on her skin, flashes of sky and ground unrecognizable because of the speed in which she flipped again and again. Blackfyre was just down the beach, sniffing at the sand and the sea water, making funny gurgling noises in the back of his throat. She had a feeling that was his way of demanding she pay attention to him.

She smiles in his direction, watching as he seems fixated with the slow rise and fall of the tide against the shoreline. “Blackfyre,” Sansa calls to him gently, “You want to go flying don’t you?”

She grins at his display of joy, watching him shake his scales clean and stalk his way towards her, clawed wings digging into the sand as he goes. Aegon had given her permission to go flying today; it was part of the plan. She was to be introduced to Westeros slowly, let them see her flying above the towers of Dragonstone and the village nearby. She wasn’t to go any further then that however; they only wanted people to talk and whisper, to catch only glimpses of her every now and then. Later they would take her to King’s Landing and she would be present in court with Visenya. That would be the time people would finally get to see her and get some answers, but only the answers they chose to give.

They were definitely going to take the _Red Targaryen_ story and run with it….

 Standing she brushes her skirts clean of sand and dirt, shivering in the morning air. This gown thankfully covered her mid-section but her lower back was exposed and there was a peek of bare skin just near the front close to her belly button. It was ridiculous how exposing Visenya’s gowns were, how could she walk around like that and not feel naked? Hiking up her skirts she climbs up onto Blackfyre’s back, a smile on her face. How long has it been since she’s gone flying? Blackfyre was much bigger now too, and Avery replaced his reigns and saddle with new ones. Gathering the reigns in her hands she straightens her skirts, her fingers sliding over the soft silk trousers beneath. This gown in particular was meant for riding, it was a way for a rider to wear a dress and still have pants on. There were slits on either side of the gown that stopped just below her hips to reveal the silk pants beneath.

 “You ready?” Sansa pats Blackfyre’s head as she urges him forward. They dart off into the air without preamble, racing towards the morning sky above. Sansa leans into it, letting Blackfyre have his way. He must be restless to stretch his wings this morning, Sansa thinks to herself. They circle the towers of dragon stone thrice before diving down towards the village at the bottom of the mountain side, the children in the streets below running along after her, pointing and laughing. Sansa smiles and waves a little before darting back up towards the keep, circling the mountainous outcrops surrounding Dragonstone. Below her she sees Aenys practicing his sparring with Aegon and satisfaction blossoms in her heart. Aegon must have spoken with Lord Fartheling and saw the folly of him at last. Or maybe he was just spending time with his son outside in the fresh morning air, either way it was a good result. Aenys stops to point and wave, Sansa grins down at him and waves back before ducking over the tops of the wide metal bars of the main gates, sharply dropping down over the road side and cutting to the left, following the curve of the hillside down towards the village again.

She lands just north of the village in the middle of the sprawling hillside, sliding off Blackfyre’s back gracefully. She knew the villagers were watching from afar, never daring to step any closer. She made a show of it, checking the straps of the saddle and the reigns. Patting Blackfyre’s neck gently she walks through the tall green grass and sighs, inhaling deeply. The fresh air was amazing and wind against her face and hair felt glorious. “I miss you,” Sansa breaths into the wind, her way of greeting Oberyn wherever he was each morning. Sometimes she’d simply say _good morning_ , other days when she couldn’t shake him from her thoughts it was _I miss you_.

“We’ll if you ain’t gonna tell her I am,” a woman’s voice in the distance, catching Sansa’s attention. She turns in time to see a woman trudging across the hillside towards her, a bar maid most likely. Her hair was pulled back in  worn and faded looking white cloth cap and over her skirts was a red apron. “ _Milady_!” she calls to Sansa, “Milady please, forgive the intrusion!”

“What is it?” Sansa asks, stepping around Blackfyre. He wasn’t very good with strangers, so she keeps a careful hold on his reigns.

 The woman stops a few feet away, her eyes on the dragon behind Sansa. “Milady,” she says tentatively, “Them men in the village…the one’s from Lys…they stole that cart full of flour from the baker. Said it was there’s by right because the Baker skimped on paying them what was due.”

“Show me,” Sansa says softly and follows the woman back towards the village. She decides to make a show of it, she might as well. Climbing onto Blackfyre’s back she guides him through the wide village streets past onlookers and nosy gossipers. This was technically bending the rules, she wasn’t supposed to talk to anyone. She couldn’t just turn her back on this though, it would make it look like Aegon cared nothing for the common folk. She stops just before a group of men with a cart surrounded by angry villagers. “What’s going on here?”

A hush falls over the townspeople and all eyes are on Sansa. She imagines it must be Blackfyre, his bright emerald eyes shimmering in the morning light, wicked looking razor sharp claws and pointed white teeth. Sansa alone has never been so intimidating before.

“He failed to pay us what’s due,” the man from Lys tells Sansa, “So we’re taking back what’s ours.”

“If I don’t have flour to bake with,” the baker tells Sansa, “How am I supposed to make any coin? How do I pay them what’s due when I don’t have what I need to make coin with?”

“If he ain’t got no bread  to bake,” another villager says, “Nobody’s going to have any food.”

“You’re the only baker here?” Sansa quirks an eyebrow at the man.

“Yes,” The baker nods.

“How much does the baker owe you?” Sansa asks the man from Lys.

“Five gold dragons,” the Lysian man tells her pointedly.

Sansa debates this for a moment before responding, “These people will go hungry if the baker cannot provide food. Leave the flour with the baker and come up to the keep. I’ll see to it that my brother pays you what is owed.” Sansa pauses to look at the Baker and then adds, “In the future, I want you to buy only half what you do now. Buy only as much as you are certain you can afford.”

“Yes Milady,” the baker tells her, looking perfectly humbled.

Without another word, Sansa turns Blackfyre and leaves the village.

 

* * *

 

She wasn’t supposed to get involved in any of that, but she really couldn’t help it. Once clear of the village she takes off back for the keep, soaring over the high stone walls and down into the courtyard towards the dragon pits. Sliding off his back she hands the reigns over to Avery as he walks up from the pits to retrieve Blackfyre.

“I don’t care for the saddle,” Sansa tells him softly, “It’s a lovely saddle but I prefer bareback.”

“But the scales will tear at your gown your highness,” Avery says tentatively.

“I have others,” Sansa smiles faintly, “and I’m careful with them. I used to ride bareback all the time.”

Avery nods, “as you wish your highness.”

Stepping past him she walks with renewed vigor towards the wide double doors of the keep, stopping only when Aegon’s voice calls to her. She turns to look at him, sparring sword in hand and padded black armor strapped to his chest. “You were in the village.”

“I was,” Sansa agrees.

“I asked you to keep your distance,” he points out, “Explain.”

 _How does he_ always _know?_

“I landed outside the village to stretch my legs and one of the villagers told me there was a Lysian man stealing flour from the baker. If I turned my back on it they’d think you cared nothing for the common folk. So I went, and it turned out the baker couldn’t pay all that he owed to the men from Lys. I resolved the issue easily enough; those Lysian men will be here to collect payment from you by the way. The villagers were telling me they’d have no food if the Baker had no flour to cook with.”

“I see,” he ponders this for a moment and then sighs with a nod, “It was unavoidable, when will those Lysian men be here and how much do I owe them?”

“Five gold dragons and probably within the hour,” Sansa winces a little, “I’m sorry I know that’s a bit much for flour.”

“Indeed it is,” Aegon frowns, “I’ll reason with them and lower the cost. They’re trying to get one over on that poor baker I think.”

Sansa nods, “Well that’s settled. I’m going to wash up and have some breakfast.”

Aegon waves her off and Sansa disappears inside, stripping off the outer layers of her riding clothes. Under them her gown is deep plum streaked with gold. She was starting to get used to the routine of Dragonstone. Their lives and means of survival were far different then they are three hundred years from now, and Sansa often has to cheat when nobodies looking because she knows things that they do not. It wasn’t easy either, keeping these sorts of secrets because certain things won’t be invented for another century at least.

After breakfast she heads for the library, she had to get some work done today at the very least. There wasn’t any rush to find the key _now_ , but three hundred years from now it would be _very_ important. As she walks something gold glimmers, catching her eye. She pauses, turning her gaze to the right. Down the hall she sees it flash again and curiously she walks towards it, down the long stone hallway decorated with soft Persian rugs and shimmering silk tapestries. At the end she finds a set of wide double doors similar to the ones from the entrance to the North wing. One door was ajar, and frowning she tentatively steps forward. Inside its dark save for the sunlight peeking around the closed drapes. One drape was fluttering in the breeze, behind it she could see a window that must have been blown open.

_This must be the East wing…this was Rhaenys’s room._

Tentatively she looks around to make sure nobodies watching and darts into the room, quickly pulling the window shut and locking it into place. The East wing was larger and more luxurious even in the dark. Though she could scarcely see anything, she could just barely make out shimmering golds and silvers mixed with pale whites, Silks, jewels, and empty flower vases. Rhaenys must have enjoyed the lighter colors; she must have had flowers brought into this room too. On the far wall she could see a bow mounted there, smaller and designed better for a woman to wield then a man. A noise down the hall startles her and she darts back out, gently shutting the East wing door behind her as quietly as she can. Pressing against the darkest part of the wall she spies Aegon walk past down towards the end.

_He was headed towards the library!_

Panic settles in and she darts as quickly and as light footed as she can down the hall, creeping around the corner to make sure Aegon was gone. When he starts up the second staircase for the library and turns down a corridor she darts down the hall towards the North wing. There was no way she’d make it to the library before him.

Once she was safely inside the North wing she presses her back against the double doors and lets out a sigh of relief. She shouldn’t have been nosing around where she ought not to be, it was a good lesson for her to learn. She didn’t want to even imagine how Aegon would have reacted if he caught her snooping around in Rhaenys’s room.

It was better if she just kept to her own wing for now, just to be safe. Besides, she still had to finish redecorating. Seeing as she had four spare rooms now that the whole wing was open, she moved her bed chambers into a much more spacious room with wide arching windows facing the sea, and let the north tower become her study instead. With a sigh Sansa tosses her outer riding wear over the sofa and starts up the staircase towards her study.  When she opens the door however, she’s not expect the sight of at least five or six books stacked neatly on her desk with a note attached. Snatching it up off the top of the stack she reads it curiously.

 

_Learn them all._

“ _Visenya_ ,” Sansa groans aloud irritably. Looking the books over, one was a book of Targaryen genealogy, one on the family history, and two were about the Valerian culture and history. “Lovely…as if I don’t have enough to do already.”

Dropping down into her desk chair she cracks open one of the books. Valerian culture seemed a lot more interesting then Targaryen genealogy. At least she’d get to read about epic battles and famous Kings and Queens instead of who married whose sister and begot a cousin that married his twin sister who then begot twin boys who wed their twin aunts….

Just the idea of it made her shudder…it was also slightly confusing.

As it turns out, Valerian history was pretty interesting, and she after two or three hours of reading she had an idea. What if there were books on the children? What if she could figure out which of the children hid the key? Did the children keep books on that sort of thing?

A knock at the door distracts her and she glances up as Aegon peers around the edge of the door to look at her, “Did you plan on eating lunch or am I going to have to make you sit with me every meal so that I know you’ve eaten something?”

Blushing Sansa turns her gaze down to the book before her, “I was just reading…I hadn’t noticed the time. Please…I’ll go down and eat I don’t want to disrupt your work.”

_Or history….she’d go down in history as the Stark who destroyed an empire because she wouldn’t eat lunch._

He quirks an eyebrow, “You aren’t disrupting my work,” he says, stepping fully into the room. He catches sight of the books on her desk and smirks, “Visenya’s struck again I see.”

“Tell me,” Sansa says with her most serious face even though she’s fighting back a smile, “My lord I seem to be a bit confused. How _exactly_ did your great grandfather end up with five wives?”

He smiles at her, “That’s a family secret.”

Sansa quirks her eyebrow expectantly but says nothing.

Aegon grins even brighter, “Back in the day, when my family still lived in Valeria, it was common for a man to have more than one wife.  Some men had whole harems of them in fact.”

“That must have been difficult,” Sansa tells him, “Having to do your duty by all five of them.”

“Which is why I kept it at _two_ ,” he smiles faintly at her, a glimmer of nostalgia in his eyes for a brief moment. “Visenya and I only wed because Father made us. It was contracted when we were still children; we had no say in the matter. I married Rhaenys after because Visenya allowed it; she knew that I loved her.” Aegon sighs and then looks at her thoughtfully, “Your faith…you’re of the old gods yes?”

“No,” Sansa shakes her head, “The faith of the seven, the same as you.”

He tilts his head, “How did you know that?”

“History,” Sansa tells him and then asks, “So it wasn’t hard being married to both your sisters?”

“No,” Aegon replies, pulling a chair over so that he could sit across from her, “Visenya and I hadn’t even consummated the marriage until after I wed Rhaenys. That’s why Aenys is crown prince and Maegor isn’t. Aenys was born first.”

“So Targaryen tradition goes by the eldest child?” Sansa quirks an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Aegon explains, “Visenya is the eldest and the first born. It was my duty to wed her, but because I had no other brother to wed Rhaenys too, I wed her as well. Granted…I was in love with her too.”

Sansa nods, pondering his words, “Why?”

“Why what?” he quirks an eyebrow.

“Why your sisters? Why not take a wife from some Westrosi house here? Wouldn’t that be more advantageous? You’d have an ally in the surrounding houses.”

“I have many allies already,” he points out, “and they are loyal to me. Besides…I was wed to my sisters long before I began the conquest. I never actually married in the sept, so there wasn’t anything anyone could do about it.”

“Mmm,” Sansa nods thoughtfully, “Sharra Arryn.”

Aegon pulls a face, “How did _you_ know about that?”

“History,” Sansa smiles at him, “and I’m related to the Arryn’s.”

“Is nothing about my life a secret where you’re from?” he asks her curiously, though he seems slightly annoyed as well.

“Nothing,” Sansa smiles apologetically at him, “Like mine…it’s advertised everywhere all the time. When I was eleven my family were labelled traitors and I was a captive in the King’s court. I was beaten and kicked and abused whenever anyone fancied it.”

“And my grandson allowed it?” Aegon asks, looking particularly unsettled.

“I can’t answer that,” Sansa replies evenly, “I think you understand why.”

“Not really,” he says, his expression unreadable before he changes the topic, “I came up here to tell you that the Baratheon’s will be dining with us tomorrow evening. Orys will pester me into madness unless I relent and show you off to the world.”

Sansa nods, “He seems rather nosy.”

“He is,” Aegon says tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose, “You’ll be hosting it.”

“ _What_?” Sansa says, eyes widening, “I can’t do that.”

“Of course you can,” Aegon tells her, “Visenya and I agree that you hosting it would make a statement.”

“Like _what_?” Sansa stares at him, sarcasm edging around her next words, “ _I’m trying to usurp my sister in her own home_?”

“ _No_ ,” Aegon smiles wryly at her, “That this is your home, and you’re a part of this family too.”

It did make sense…but what if people thought she was trying to usurp Visenya? _She_ was the lady of Dragonstone, not Sansa.

“You _do_ realize I have to find a magical weather changing key, don’t you?” Sansa asks, quirking an eyebrow. “I don’t have time to plan parties.”

“You have _years_ to find that key Sansa,” Aegon tells her, “I think you have plenty of time.”

She gives him a flat look and tries once more, “It will look like I’m trying to usurp her Aegon.”

“Not if she’s told you to do it,” Aegon points out, “I think if you can alphabetize my library and rearrange the meal schedule then you can host a banquet.”

“You noticed that did you?” Sansa blushes a little, “I was just…I had some free time is all.”

“That library is _huge_ ,” Aegon points out, “Don’t you ever sleep?”

“Not really,” Sansa admits quietly and Aegon’s playful smile slips a little at her confession, “I have bad dreams.”

“Like what?” he asks curiously.

“Just,” Sansa shakes her head, flashing images of sky and ground blurring together in the back of her mind. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Your husband?” He asks with a tilt of his head.

“Sometimes,” she replies, “but sometimes I dream that I’m falling.”

“ _Falling_?” His eyebrows lift in response, a little surprised by her response, “Why falling?”

“I don’t know,” Sansa tells him, “I told you….I’m a greenseer, my dreams never make any sense.”

He nods thoughtfully, “Would you like me to ask the maester to visit you? He might be able to come up with something to stop the dreams so you can sleep.”

“Nothing can stop them,” Sansa says quietly, “It’s part of who I am.”

“I see,” he nods, “Rhaenys had the same problem.”

Sansa nods, “She dreamt of me coming here.”

“Yes,” he nods, “She used to dream a lot.”

The two of them fall silent for a long while. Finally Sansa breaks the silence, “I need to get started on the banquet preparations.”

Aegon stands as she does with a nod, “I’d better get back to my paperwork.”

Sansa nods, staring at the books on her desk rather than at him, “Have fun with that.”

“Oh don’t I always?” Aegon gives her a half-smile before he leaves, and once the door closes behind him Sansa sighs softly, turning her gaze towards the open window behind her and the sweet sea breeze floating in and brushing against her face like a lovers gentle caress.  She had so much on her plate now; she wasn’t sure how she was going to handle all this.

 

* * *

 

The next morning Sansa is up before dawn, sitting crossed legged on her bed trying to figure out a meal plan. Roasted duck with orange sauce, green beans (because Aenys won’t eat anything else) Sweet apple wine (the one Sansa likes from Highgarden) and for desert…pastries, courtesy of the very baker who sent them up from the village in gratitude for her interference.

Seating charts were the next problem. The royal family sits together, so it would be Aegon at the head of the table, and Visenya closest to his right because she’s his Queen. Sansa would be on the left because she is his sister; Orys would be at the opposite end with his wife on his right and his children on either side of the table closest to him.

Leaning back to stare at it she frowns, chinning idly on the end of her quill. It looks more like a battle plan then a seating chart. Perhaps she should move them closer? Orys is the Hand of the King after all, and Aegon and Orys were friends.

“Your taste in finery is odd,” Visenya’s voice drifts through her bed chamber door from the main parlor where Sansa’s new gowns were being aired out. She wanted to have a look at them each and decide which to wear tonight before having her handmaiden put them away. She could just barely make out the glimmer of Visenya’s long silver tresses, curled and swinging down her back. It was the first time Sansa’s seen her in silks, and she can’t help but stare as she climbs off her bed and steps into the parlor.

“You look beautiful,” Sansa blinks at her, “That’s a lovely dress.”

“It is isn’t it?” Visenya muses aloud as she touches the soft silk fabric of her red and silver gown. Her expression is slightly surprised however, maybe just a little bit thrown. She wasn’t expecting Sansa to say that to her.

“Why is my taste in finery odd?” Sansa quirks an eyebrow, changing the subject.

“Because,” Visenya tells her, “Valerian’s hardly wear anything like this.”

“We’ll that’s a good thing because I’m from the Riverlands,” Sansa points out, checking to make sure nobody was around before she does. “I combined the two styles to make a new one.”

“And you don’t think people will notice? You dressed like a Riverlander I mean.”

“No,” Sansa tells her as she touches the soft silk of one of her new gowns, it was ivory and gold with a pair of silk riding pants made to go under it. “If I am from both worlds…the Riverlands and Valerian, then I want to honor both sides of my heritage.”

Visenya nods, rolling the idea around in her head, “Did you finish the seating chart?”

“I did,” Sansa agrees before fetching it from her bed to show her, “Take a look. I feel like it’s more of a battle plan then a seating chart.”

Visenya nods, “Oh that’s good though,” Visenya grins as she looks at it, “I’ll not have to worry about that Orys Baratheon trying to worm his way into my family by making that silly daughter of his try and sway Aenys.” Visenya pauses for a moment, “Oh, don’t seat Maegor near Aenys, he’ll probably just through food at him when nobodies looking.”

Frowning Sansa replies, “And he does this often?”

Visenya sighs, “It’s a bad habit I admit, but boys will be boys. Aenys needs to learn to stand up to him. He’s got no backbone, that boy. How is he ever supposed to lead an entire realm if he can’t even stand up to his little brother? Honestly,” Visenya tells her as she examines one of Sansa’s new gowns, “I’ve tried to tell Aegon about the dangers that Aenys’s gentle heart presents. It’s fallen on deaf ears however, Aenys reminds him to much of Rhaenys I think. I think he feels it would be an insult to Rhaenys’s memory if he were to disinherit Aenys and give everything to Maegor instead.”

“I’m not one to tell a Mother how to raise her son,” Sansa replies, “but I do think you should go easy on Aenys. Did you know that sparring trainer you hired was bullying him?”

“It’s good for him,” Visenya replies, “It builds character. People always bloom into warriors in the face of adversity.”

“Not always,” Sansa murmurs, her mind drifting Viserys Targaryen, the Beggar King. Adversity had turned him into a hateful coward who bullied his little sister and blamed her for everything.

“And anyhow,” Visenya tells Sansa, “ _I’m_ his Mother, not you. _I_ decide what’s best for him.”

“ _Rhaenys_ is his Mother,” Sansa counters, irritation hackling along her tense shoulders.

“Yes she was,” Visenya looks at Sansa pointedly, “and she did a terrible job of it didn’t she? Look at the boy Sansa, he’s a _coward_. How can Aegon trust him to lead an entire realm? Do you have _any_ idea how strong Aegon had to be to hold seven kingdoms together?”

“Being brave isn’t the only thing one needs to lead a country,” Sansa tells her firmly, “You have to be kind as well, and just.”

Visenya snorts rudely, “You sound like Rhaenys, no wonder Aegon prefers your opinion over mine.”

“What?” Sansa blinks at her.

Yet instead of answering Visenya changes the subject, “Wear the light blue and gold one, it’ll go well with your hair.” And with that said, Visenya sweeps out of the room leaving Sansa alone with her thoughts.

 _She just has to have control over_ everything _, doesn’t she?_

With a sigh, Sansa looks down at the seating chart in her hands and rearranges it according to what Visenya wanted.

This dinner was going to be a disaster.

 

* * *

 

That evening before the Baratheon’s arrived; Sansa wore the light blue and gold gown as requested, and fashioning her auburn hair in braids and curls down her back. This gown was much more modest, concealing her mid-section but leaving her shoulders bare and a portion of her back as well. Once she was ready she hurried down the North corridor towards the great hall, coming to a halt in the hallway when she rounds the corner and spots Aegon with a basket in his arms and Visenya looking perfectly irritated.

“Don’t _eat_ those,” Visenya warns him with a frown, “They could be _poisoned_.”

“I hardly think they are sister,” Aegon muses with grin as he pops one of the sweet pastries in her mouth when she opens it to protest, mirth dancing in his eyes at the indignant look on her face. He then takes another pastry from the basket and eats it, grinning at Visenya the whole time.

“ _Hey_ ,” Sansa scolds Aegon gently, taking the basket from him as she approaches, “These are for _desert_.”

Glancing in Visenya’s direction, who chews silently but finishes the pastry rather quickly, adds as she looks at Sansa, “They’re a bit dry.”

“Oh just admit it,” Sansa tells her, “You like them.”

“I do _not_ ,” Visenya protests as Sansa walks off with the basket in her arms and a grin on her face.

Outside they hear the sound of horses and Sansa calls to Aegon as she goes, “That’ll be the Baratheons.”

 

* * *

 

Dinner isn’t as bad as Sansa expected. She eats daintily from her plate and discusses with a polite smile the lovely spring weather with Orys’s wife, Argella.

“Oh it’s been fantastic for riding,” Sansa smiles at Argella politely.

“Yes,” Orys cuts in, “Natural born rider are you? Aegon tells me you’re very good.”

Sansa smiles, “I do try.”

Orys nods, “You get that from your Mother I imagine. Your Father though, that red hair I think. He’s a Tully isn’t he?”

“A cousin of the Tully’s,” Sansa smiles politely, “On his Mother’s side.”

Orys nods thoughtfully, “My boy Berys is excellent on horseback, are you a good rider as well?”

“Not nearly so skilled I’m afraid,” Sansa tells him, “I’m a better dragon rider.”

_Though Oberyn tried again and again to teach her…._

“Well that can be remedied easily,” Orys laughs, “My boy can show you, can’t you Berys?”

“Yes Father,” Berys smiles, nervous blue eyes turning in Sansa’s direction. He could tell as much as anyone else that his Father was displaying him like cattle at the market.

“I’ve got someone coming to train her,” Aegon tells Orys, “Though your son is welcome to join them sometime.”

_No please, not more riding lessons…_

The very last thing she wanted to do was endure another lesson of horseback riding. She didn’t care for it nearly as much as she did dragon riding. Risking a glance in Aegon’s direction his lilac eyes were curious in her direction. He was probably wondering what else she hasn’t told him….

There were moments when she wanted to tell him the truth of her husband; so many times she wanted to tell him. She needed to tell him at some point, she just wasn’t sure _when_ exactly. When is a good time to mention that you were married to a family member of the family that murdered their wife exactly?

“And when will we be expecting your beautiful sister to grace the court?” Orys quirks an eyebrow, “You know I can’t keep those ravenous vultures at bay forever.”

“In a fortnight,” Aegon tells him, “Visenya will be holding court and Sansa will be attending.”

_Well this was news to her…_

Without letting anyone in on the fact that Aegon had successfully caught her off guard for a second time that night, Sansa smiles at Orys politely, “I do look forward to seeing the Aegonfort.”

“Oh don’t get to excited,” Orys laughs, “It’s a bit rough cut if you know what I mean. The Iron Throne’s a sight to see though,” Orys smiles at her, “and the city smells of piss but I’m sure you’ll get used to that easily.”

“ _Orys_ ,” Argella scolds him, a blush rising high in her cheeks because of her husband’s foul language.

“Oh I’m sure they’ve heard worse,” Orys waves her off.

“Indeed,” Visenya comments lightly, “but I would rather you not speak that way before my children.”

Orys falters a little, his blue eyes on Visenya, “Forgive me your grace, I meant no offense.”

“None taken,” Visenya replies, “Just mind your tongue.”

 

* * *

 

After dinner Sansa is pawned off to Berys and the two walk through the library after Orys suggests Sansa give his son a tour of the keep. Meanwhile Orys and Aegon go off to his study and Visenya and Argella sit with glasses of apple wine and discuss the court. Sansa is grateful not to be dragged into it, and with Berys in tow she shows him the library.

“I’m sorry about my Father,” Berys tells her tentatively, “He means well.”

Sansa smiles faintly at him, “Honestly, it’s fine.”

Berys smiles and nods, “This place is huge.”

“It is,” Sansa grins a little, “I’ve gotten lost a time or two.”

“So how do you like living here?” Berys quirks an eyebrow at her, “My Father tells me you grew up in Volantis. What was that like?”

“I like living here,” Sansa tells him, “It’s far different from Volantis though.” Mustering what knowledge she had of Volantis she adds, “Volantis was warm and sunny. We lived near the ocean, and it was very private. Only people of Valerian decent were allowed in, honestly I don’t know how my Mother convinced them to let my Father in.”

“Father says you flew right over the spring parade,” Berys tells her, “I wish I could have seen that. My little sister did though; she said your hair shone like fire in the sky.”

Sansa blushes, “Yes,” with a nod she adds, “My hair is _very_ red.”

“Can I have a look at the books?” Berys asks, stepping closer to the shelves. “I love books…Father doesn’t care for them as much as I.” Sansa nods, pulling around the step ladder for him to use.

Outside in the hall Sansa can hear voices, two in particular. One belonged to Aenys and the other to Maegor, and from the sounds of it, they were arguing. Frowning worriedly she glances at Berys and smiles apologetically, “I need to handle this I think.”

“I’ll be here,” Berys nods and turns back to the books.

 In the hall Sansa finds Maegor pinning Aenys to the ground, his arm pinned behind his back. “Let him go at once!” Sansa says firmly, rushing over to them.

Maegor leaps off Aenys like he’s been burned, or at the very least _caught_. “He started it.”

“Did not,” Aenys glares at his younger brother as he gets to his feet, “You’re lying!”

“Maegor,” Sansa glances at the other boy. He’s a little taller than Aenys with close cropped wavy silver hair and dark indigo eyes like his Mothers. “Apologize to your brother.”

“Mother says you aren’t supposed to interfere,” Maegor tells Sansa, “That Aenys needs to fend me off himself.”

“If I ever catch you beating your brother again you’ll be cleaning out the stables for a week,” Sansa tells him flatly, “Do I make myself clear?”

“You can’t do that,” Maegor sneers at her, “You’re just a _woman_.”

“I am your _Aunt_ ,” Sansa tells him firmly, “and you will show respect for your elders.”

“What’s going on here?” Aegon’s voice echoes in the corridor behind them.

“Father,” Aenys says to him, “Maegor was pinning me down and Sansa stopped him.”

“She told me I’d have to clean the stables for a week,” Maegor glowers up at Sansa, “Father must I?”

Aegon shifts his gaze between Sansa and his sons, “Oh I think you shall my son. Just because she’s a woman doesn’t make her any less as strong as you. You will show respect to her as both a woman and your Aunt.”

“Ha,” Aenys snorts in amusement at Maegor who’s currently glowering up at both his Father and now Sansa.

Maegor takes one last look at both of them and then runs off, Aegon sighing wearily as he goes. “I’d better go find him.”

Sansa nods and watches him go, turning her gaze towards Aenys, “Hey…” she says when she notices his shoulder’s shaking, “Don’t cry, it’s alright.” It occurs to her now that Aenys was doing his best to look fearless but on the inside he was terrified of his little brother.

“He’s going to get me for that,” Aenys says quietly, “He’ll do something _awful_ , he always does.”

“Then he’ll be scrubbing the pots and pans with the servants if he does,” Sansa tells Aenys gently, “and the stables.”

Aenys smiles a little, wiping the tears away, “I hope Mother isn’t cross with you for this.”

“I’ll deal with your Mother,” Sansa smiles faintly, walking with Aenys towards the library. They had guests to host anyways, and Aenys likes books.  Deep down, she had a feeling Visenya would skin her alive for reprimanding Maegor, but she really didn’t care. Maegor was a bully and needed to be stopped. As she glances down at Aenys she can’t help but wonder how Rhaenys handled that sort of thing, and whether it went on when Rhaenys was still alive.

Either way, it was going to stop _now_.

 

* * *

 

Later that night after the guests had gone home and everyone had gone to bed, Sansa was awoken near one in the morning to the sound of loud voices in the hall.

 _“Visenya wait…”_ Aegon’s voice, tired and frustrated.

 _“No,”_ Visenya replies angrily _, “I’m leaving…I can’t stand another moment under this bloody roof with you Aegon.”_

 _“The boy was out of line Visenya,”_ Aegon says firmly _, “He needs to be disciplined.”_

 _“Maegor is_ my _son Aegon,”_ Visenya tells him pointedly _, “She had no right!”_

_“He’s my son as well Visenya,” Aegon says coldly, “Or have you forgotten that?”_

_“I_ never _wanted to marry you!” Visenya all but shouts, “I never wanted any of this!”_

_“Well neither did I,” Aegon snarls at her, “But it’s done. We did our duty.”_

_“Oh to_ hell _with your duty Aegon,” Visenya snaps angrily, “What about your duty to your children? To me? When Rhaenys died it’s like you forgot all about us!”_

 _“You and I might be married but we haven’t been husband and wife for_ years _Visenya,” Aegon tells her flatly, “That started long before Rhaenys died.”_

Sansa winces at his sharp words and from the silence she can tell he must have hit a nerve with Visenya. When she says nothing he continues on, changing the topic back to Maegor and Aenys, _“He was pinning Aenys to the floor in_ public _,”_ Aegon says after a pause, his voice still laced with anger. Sansa has never heard him angry before _. “Maegor must have better manners then that.”_

 _“Aenys is a_ coward _Aegon,”_ Visenya says angrily _, “He’s just like his_ Mother _. He’s too soft and I’m telling you it will ruin this kingdom!”_

 _“Hold your tongue Visenya,”_ Aegon’s voice again, this time oddly calm but laced with threat. It was as if he were biting back his temper and Visenya just said the wrong thing _, “If I ever hear you speak ill of Rhaenys again…”_ She can hear his footfalls retreat away from Visenya, but pauses at her next words.

 _“She’s not in there,”_ Visenya’s voice is bitter and resentful and Sansa realizes she’s referring to Rhaenys’s wing _, “She’s not hiding under the bed Aegon, she’s_ dead _. It doesn’t matter if you burn Dorne to the ground, you’ll never get her back.”_

 _“ENOUGH!”_ Aegon shouts angrily, enough to even frighten Sansa a little. From the resounding abrupt silence, Visenya was frightened or at the very least shocked into silence as well.

“ _I would rather go back and rot in that shit hole of a fort then sit another moment in this_ shrine _you’ve built to our dead sister_ ,” Visenya tells him bitterly, her footfalls heavy across the stone as she storms off.

“ _What happened to us Visenya_?” Aegon says tiredly, “ _We used to be such good friends_.”

“ _Rhaenys died_ ,” Visenya says coldly, “ _and you shut the world out. You blame_ me _for it don’t you? We both know that you do. It was_ I _that was supposed to go to Dorne but she insisted and I let her go in my place. You think it should have been_ me _who died, not_ her _and you resent me for it_!”

“ _I don’t blame you for her death Visenya_ ,” Aegon says quietly, almost sadly.

“ _Of course you do_ ,” Visenya replies just as softly, a hint of sorrow and exhaustion laced in her voice, “ _You’ve always blamed me. Hell I blame myself Aegon. If I had been there instead of her, I could have stood a chance against those bastards…but Rhaenys…_ ” Visenya falls silent.

“ _What about Maegor_?” Aegon asks after a long pause.

“ _I’ll come and get him in the morning_ ,” Visenya replies evenly and then without another word, Sansa can hear her walk off down the hall and out the front doors of the keep. They slam resoundingly throughout the castle, and then there was nothing but silence.

Well, there was no way she was going back to sleep now.

She can hear Aegon’s footfalls getting closer and pause at the doors to the North wing. Sitting up in bed she can see his shadow just under the door. Then he walks off, probably to his study she imagines. With a deep breath she climbs out of bed and shuts her bed chamber door, blocking out the view of the parlor and the entrance to the Northern wing doors. This wasn’t her business, they weren’t actually her family. She needed to keep out of this and let them resolve it. It wasn’t her place to get in the middle of their marital disputes anyways. Instead she picks up the journal Aegon gave her and lights a candle. Sitting crossed legged on her bed, she begins to write.


	87. Chapter 87

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

In the morning, the castle is silent. At breakfast, Sansa and Aenys eat alone, sharing a bowl of fruit and some milk and cheese between the two of them. Aenys stares at his plate, and Sansa stares at her hands. Risking a glance upward, she notes Aenys’s saddened expression. She had a sinking feeling that Aenys heard the fight too, heard what Visenya said about him.

“You’re not a coward,” Sansa says, breaking the silence as she looks at Aenys.

“I am,” Aenys says flatly, “Like Mother said.”

“She’s wrong,” Sansa replies evenly, “When I was your age, I loved stories and books too. I had this friend, her name was Arya. Arya would always laugh at me whenever I tried to fight with her and the boys in the streets of Volantis. You see, in our culture especially in Volantis the women were equal to the men. We are allowed to fight and wield a sword if we choose. I wanted to do that, but every time I tried the sword was too heavy….one time I ended up hitting myself in the face with the hilt by accident. Arya just laughed at me…laughed and laughed and I ran off crying to my Mother.” Sansa’s mind drifts in memories, long ago when she was a child and Arya was playing swords with Robb and Jon. Sansa would always try to play with them but she’d always ended up getting hurt. Eventually she gave up and chose to stay in doors with her Mother and sew. It had been a stupid idea anyways, trying to fit in where she was clearly outnumbered and out of her league. It took years for her to realize that she wasn’t weak because she couldn’t swing a heavy sword, she was just as strong as Arya but in a different way.

“There are many different kinds of bravery Aenys,” Sansa tells him gently, “I wasn’t the sword swinging type…not even as a little girl, but I am a warrior like my Mother before me. My battlefield is among the wise and the clever, my mind is my sword and my armor is my courtesy. For you Aenys, you’ll be like me. You are a warrior of a different kind and to be quite honest, it is you and I who will always win. Not every war can be won with a sword you know. You just need to figure out what kind of warrior you are.”

“That’s not what Mother thinks,” Aenys says quietly.

“Your Mother is wrong,” Sansa says flatly, swallowing down her anger with Visenya, “She’s worried about you Aenys, and she wants you to be as great a warrior as you can. One day when you are a man you will prove to her you are every bit a warrior that she dreamed of you being.”

“You really think so?” Aenys asks her, hope dancing in his eyes.

“I do,” Sansa confirms with a small smile, “Now finish you breakfast.”

The two sit there for a while longer when Aegon enters and pauses at the open double doors to the dining hall. Both Sansa and Aenys look up when he enters. Sensing that Aegon may want to speak to his son in private, Sansa neatly wipes her mouth on her napkin and excuses herself. Stepping past Aegon she doesn’t wait for him to say anything to him or even give him the chance too. It wasn’t her business and he didn’t need to explain himself to her. Instead she grabs one of the books Visenya sent her from off her desk in her study and walks down to the dragon stairs outside and finds a spot on one of the steps. From this place she can gaze upon the sea and enjoy the morning breeze.

 

* * *

 

With Sansa gone, Aenys stares at his plate as his Father takes his seat at the head of the table. Aegon fills his plate and sneaks glances at his quiet son every now and then. Finally he breaks the silence, “I’m sorry you had to hear that Aenys.”

“Its fine,” Aenys says without meeting his Father’s gaze. He seemed alright though, and he wondered silently if Sansa had anything to do with that.

“Your Mother loves you very much Aenys,” Aegon tells him gently, “She’s just worried is all.”

“I know,” Aenys tells his Father, “Sansa said Mother is just worried and wants me to be as great a warrior as I can. I will be though Father,” Aenys says softly, “I know you and Mother think me soft…but I’m as strong as Maegor but in a different way, like Sansa is.”

Aegon frowns curiously at his son as he takes a bite of his breakfast, “Like Sansa is?”

“Yes,” Aenys explains as he sips his milk, “Sansa says there are many different kinds of warriors in the world, I just need to figure out which one I am.”

Aegon nods thoughtfully, “Your Aunt is very wise. I don’t think you’re a coward Aenys, and neither does your Mother. She was just upset last night, and worried about you. Sometimes people say things they don’t mean when they’re angry.”

Aenys nods as he finishes his breakfast, “May I be excused Father?”

“You may,” Aegon waves him off, “Get to sparring practice.”

“Yes Father,” Aenys replies and runs off down the corridor and out to the courtyard.

As he watches his son run off down the hall Aegon can’t help but grimace. So she heard them too, just as he had suspected she might have. He would have to talk to her eventually, embarrassed as he was that his marital disputes were put on display before everyone. He’s probably lucky the servants haven’t taken that juicy piece of gossip and run to the village with it by now. If they have, it’ll spread like wildfire across the seven kingdoms and Orys will hear about it by noon. Nothing is every private in this realm, nothing is ever sacred.

 

* * *

 

_The Doom Of Valeryia is a widely known tale. It is the story of the Valerian people, lost to the fires of the volcanoes to which they lived amongst. It is said that they all erupted at once, and the fire burned so hot that even the dragons themselves burned. They say the greed of the Valerian people became too great, and that is what destroyed them in the end. It is said even today, the road to Old Valeryia is perilous and the land itself is surrounded by a thick red mist. Many who have tried to take back Valeryia, lead whole armies into the red mist and never returned. To this day people avoid the roads bordering Valeryia and leading to it just to be safe._

“So this is where you’re hiding,” Aegon’s voice drifts closer as he descends the steps towards her.

Sansa turns to look at him, the book she was reading still open in her lap, “I wasn’t hiding.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you were,” he says quietly as Sansa makes room for him to sit beside her on the step.

“We’ll I’m not,” Sansa tells him and shuts the book in her lap, “How are you?”

“I’m alright,” Aegon shrugs, “I came out here…well…” he sighs, trying to pull together the words, “I assume you heard us last night.”

“I did,” Sansa nods, “but it isn’t any of my business really.”

 _So_ that’s _why he was at her door last night…he thought they might have woken her…_

“I’m sorry you had to hear all that,” Aegon says quietly, his gaze on the sea, “We never used to be that bad.”

“Its fine,” Sansa smiles faintly. She can tell he’s uncomfortable talking about this, a slight tinge of pink to his cheeks. “I’m sorry I caused you so much trouble.”

“Trouble?” he blinks at her and then shakes his head, “That wasn’t your fault. Visenya and I have been like that for so long now…” he sighs wearily, “That wasn’t your fault. Maegor needed to be reprimanded; Visenya’s just protective of him.”

They fall silent, both staring at the sea. Finally Aegon says softly, almost too soft for Sansa to catch, “When your husband died, how did you grieve?”

“I still grieve,” Sansa tells his quietly, her mind drifting back to the night before and Visenya’s words about the way he grieves for Rhaenys. “I grieve every day and every night. I grieve in the morning when I first wake and tell him good morning even though I know he can’t hear me. I grieve in the evening before I go to sleep and tell him goodnight, even though I know I’ll never hear him say it to me ever again…” Sorrow flickers in her heart but she bites down on it, smothers it so she won’t cry in front of Aegon, “That is how I grieve.”

 

* * *

 

On the day Sansa leaves for the Aegonfort, she spends most of her time that morning deciding which gown she would wear in court. She settles on a royal blue and gold gown, nodding to herself approvingly before she packs it away for later. Climbing up into the tower she retrieves a book or two for reading if she had any down time. Turning, she starts for the door again and stops, frowning down at the floor.

_No…_

There on the floor, she notices that something is amiss. She’d taken special care to conceal that particular brick under a rug she’d had brought up to decorate the room. Yanking back the rug she realizes the problem.

“No… _no_!” Sansa whispers in a panic as she drops to her knees and yanks the brick out of the floor. Just as she’d suspected….the dagger was gone.

Outside in the fresh morning air, Sansa makes her way down to the dragon pits. She would have to tell Aegon the truth before she left. She had no idea how he would react to it, but she had no choice. It was probably one of her hand maidens; she’d seen one in the North wing this morning cleaning. What if she took the dagger to Aegon? How would she explain herself? She needed to tell him now, something she _should_ have mustered the courage to tell him long ago.

“Avery,” Sansa says as she walks down into the dragon pits, “Have you seen his grace this morning?”

“Yes your highness,” he answers, “His grace left early this morning on Balarion, headed for Highgarden.”

_Damn…_

It would have to wait then, Sansa thinks to herself. She would tell him this evening when she returned from the Aegonfort. Swinging herself up onto Blackfyre’s back she waves goodbye to Avery and darts off into the bright morning sky, headed for the Aegonfort. It felt good to go beyond the mountainside and see the rest of Westeros again. Soaring over hills and valleys and holds, Sansa takes it all in.

When she reaches the Aegonfort she lands with fanfare, chin up, auburn curls shimmering in the sunlight. She’s wearing her riding leathers, a gold circlet upon her brow. It was Visenya’s idea for the circlet, it was a statement. It said that she was a Princess, and she was Aegon’s sister. The dragon had three heads again, and people needed to be aware of that.

Sliding off the back of Blackfyre she hands the reigns over to the trainer who approaches her, his golden hair glimmering in the sunlight, “Your highness,” he bows as she passes by.

“Thank you William,” Sansa tells him with a polite smile. Aegon had gone over the names of the people she needed to recognize, the courtiers as well as the servants and trainers. She walks into the royal part of the fort, sectioned off for privacy. These rooms were where Visenya and Maegor lived.

“Finally,” Visenya’s voice drifts towards her, Sansa turning to face her.

“Good afternoon,” Sansa says to her politely.

“Clean yourself up,” Visenya tells her flatly as she passes, she was draped in ivory silk and silver brocade, her silver curls swept up and pinned with braids. “Don’t be late to court; we’ll be starting in an hour. My handmaiden will do your hair.”

Sansa obediently follows the hand maiden in question into a side room reserved for guests. There she changes into the gown she selected this morning and once dressed she sits before a wide oval mirror while Visenya’s hand maiden curls and braids her hair. Afterwards, the circlet she wore this morning is carefully placed upon her brow once more and Sansa is ready to face her first day at court.

 

* * *

 

The first time she steps into the King’s hall, she is surprised by how very different it is. This isn’t the Red Keep that she remembers; the Red Keep is still being built outside around the fort. Inside the King’s Hall she spies the Iron Throne resting upon the dais and Visenya seated in a smaller wooden chair beside it, a ruby circlet upon her brow. Seated upon the Iron Throne however….

 _Aegon_.

What was he doing here? He was supposed to be at Highgarden. Maybe Visenya called him back? Visenya makes eye contact with her as the courtiers all fall silent, all eyes on Sansa. Visenya glances to her left, towards a wooden chair resting just beside the dais. It was the place of a Princess, as only the King and Queen were allowed upon the dais.  Sansa walks gracefully towards it, taking Visenya’s cue. She pauses before the Iron Throne, curtseying neatly before Aegon, “Your grace.”

“Sister,” he inclines his head and she stands, straightening her skirts before taking her place in the wooden chair set aside for her.

What was going on here? Aegon and Visenya could hardly stand in the same room together if the fight she’d heard days before was anything to go off of. Yet here he was, and she was in the same room with him. She supposed it was necessary to keep up appearances, which is why she was here as well.

“Allow me to present my sister,” Aegon tells the crowd, “Her highness, Princess Sansa.”

Sansa tilts her chin up, stares them down and watches them with passive polite interest as they bow respectfully.

“Now,” Aegon says, “To business.” He motions the first courtier forward, and so it begins. One after another, complaint after complaint and Sansa sits politely, listening.

Finely, an older man steps forward, swathed in red brocade, clearly a Lannister. “Your grace,” he begins, “I’ve news about Dorne.”

“Good,” Aegon nods thoughtfully, “We’ll discuss it in the small council later.”

Visenya glances towards Sansa and then up towards Aegon pointedly. Frowning, Sansa wonders what exactly she wants from her. They were in the middle of court and now wasn’t the time for conversation. When Aegon had finished hearing the complaints of the kingdom he dismissed the courtiers and Sansa stood, following he and Visenya into the small council room.

It was a relief to be done with the court; it was difficult not to fidget with every eye in the room on her half the time. She turns to head back to the guest chambers to change when Visenya says, “Where are you going?”

Sansa pauses to turn and look at Visenya, Aegon seated at the end of the table and Visenya on his right. Aegon’s eyes are on hers as well as Visenya adds, “You are needed in the council sister, sit.” Visenya tells her, motioning to the chair on Aegon’s left. Gracefully Sansa obediently takes a seat, feeling particularly stupid all of a sudden. She should have known that she’d be expected to stay, but nobody had ever actually told her she was going to join them in the small council as well.

“Alright Loren,” Aegon sighs, “Let’s hear this news about Dorne.”

“The Martells still have Sunspear locked up tight,” Loren begins, “but their banners have been on the move, mostly the leading leis lords. They were seen gathering in Sunspear.”

Aegon nods thoughtfully, “What do you think?” he says, glancing at Visenya.

“It sounds as though they’re planning something,” Visenya debates the issue and then glances at Sansa, “Sister?”

It catches her off guard, and when all eyes turn to her she isn’t sure what to say. She has a vast plethora of knowledge regarding Dorne, and Visenya knows it. How was she supposed to answer this? “From my understanding,” Sansa begins politely, “Dorne is made up of smoke and mirrors, an illusion if you will. They let slip rumors of greater numbers behind their walls but this is false I think. I think they want us to believe them formidable because when you expect a threat, you hesitate if not turn back all together. They use this idea to their advantage and make people believe they are more dangerous then they appear.”

 _Let that be enough_ ….Sansa thinks to herself silently. If they thought Dorne was a threat they might attack, and Dorne has suffered enough.

“Smoke and mirrors?” Visenya quirks an eyebrow, “I saw far more then smoke and mirrors whilst in Dorne myself.”

“Yes,” Sansa nods, “They are fierce warriors, but few and far between.”

“Then would you say they are easily infiltrated?” Visenya asks her conversationally, “I was under the impression that they were a fiercely secretive people.”

“They are the remnants of the Rhoynar,” Sansa replies evenly, “They live by the motto of the Martell family….unbowed, unbent, unbroken. When Princess Nymeria washed up on the shores of Dorne with hundreds of her people in tow, they swore the day that the Rhoynar united with Dorne that no man woman or child would ever be under the yoke of another ruler again. Does it surprise you that they are so tenacious and secretive?”

“Well,” Visenya smiles at her, and it’s a smile that unsettles Sansa greatly. It was like Visenya was doing this intentionally. “When you put it like that, it wouldn’t surprise me at all, no.”

Aegon’s watching her curiously, and so were the rest of the council. Sansa clears her throat politely and nervously straightens her skirts. All she had to do was retreat back into the shadows and get through this meeting without being noticed…

They continue on as if Sansa’s sudden insight of Dorne hadn’t happened at all and when the meeting was over Sansa was more than ready to escape he Aegonfort. Sansa’s quick about it, making her excuses and changing into her riding clothes.

“You’re in a hurry,” Visenya’s voice, she’s leaning against the door of the guest room.

“You put me on the spot,” Sansa scowls at her, “What was I supposed to say?”

“It was good though,” Visenya tells her, “It was _insightful_.”

Sansa narrows her eyes at Visenya, “If this is some kind of revenge for what happened with Maegor…”

“Oh no,” Visenya smiles wanly at her, “You haven’t seen me in a vengeful mood. When I’m feeling particularly vengeful, you’ll know it.”

“Visenya,” Sansa sighs, “I wasn’t trying to overstep…”

“But you _did_ ,” Visenya says flatly, “You had no right.”

“I’m sorry,” Sansa tells her honestly.

“Save it,” Visenya snaps, “Get back to Dragonstone.”

Without another word, Visenya storms off. Sansa sighs and rubs her face tiredly. That woman was impossible.

 

* * *

 

When she reaches Dragonstone, its well after dark. She drops off Blackfyre in the dragon pits and heads straight to the North wing, requesting a hot bath be made ready for her. Thankfully they were expecting her and a bath was already ready, steaming hot and smelling of lavender and jasmine. She sits for a good long soak before she climbs out and dries her hair, braiding it before bed. All she wants to do is forget all about the events of the day. Visenya is as hateful as ever, angry over her interference. She wasn’t trying to usurp Visenya; she was only trying to stop two brothers from getting into a fight in front of a visiting family. Climbing into bed, she closes her eyes and immediately drifts to sleep.

 

_Falling…she was falling..._

_The ground, burning sand and then the sky, fire and gold shimmering in the sunlight. The ground…the sky…and then darkness. When she wakes she is in agony, unable to move. Someone nearby says that her back is broken and her skull is cracked. She was dying, and she was dying slowly. It was pure agony, her head was throbbing and tears were leaking down her cheeks. A woman hovers over her, hushing her, wiping away her tears._

_“Don’t cry,” the woman says gently, “It will all be over soon.”_

Sansa jerks awake, gasping in the dark. Sitting up her gaze turns towards the windows, the dawn just barely peaking over the horizon. Climbing out of bed she dresses and heads up to her study to read. Instead she ends up writing in her journal, chewing on the tip of her quill occasionally as she writes.

 

_Today I had the same dream again, the one about falling. Yet this time I saw something different, I saw more of it. When I mentioned it to Aegon before, he had no answers either for why I was dreaming about it. I don’t understand…I don’t know what it means…_

A knock at her study door distracts her from her writing, “Enter.”

“Excuse me, your highness?” A hand maiden steps in, “His grace the King requests your presence in his study.”

“Tell him I’ll be there shortly,” Sansa tells the servant and watches her go. She then shuts her journal and tucks it away in her desk before straightening her skirts, washing the ink from her hands and heading down to Aegon’s study. She knocks on the door and hears his voice from the other side of the door.

“Enter,” he calls and Sansa obeys, stepping into the room.

What she sees when she enters the room sends fear racing through her blood. There on his desk, glinting silver in the morning light was her snake dagger.


	88. Chapter 88

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

“Sit,” he says flatly, motioning to the chair across from his.

Sansa obeys, careful to keep quiet until given an order otherwise. Aegon was angry; she could see it in the tenseness of his shoulders and the masked expression on his face.

“Before I say anything,” he says as he writes, not even looking at her, “I want you to explain to me why you have a dornish made dagger hidden in your study.”

Sansa opens her mouth to explain but he holds up a finger, continuing before she can say anything, “Think very carefully before you say anything.”

She pauses, takes a deep breath and then starts, “Aegon…I’m sorry,” she says softly, watching the anger flush his face, making bright patches of red burn high on his cheeks, “I wanted to tell you…but it never seemed like a good time. The dagger…it’s a gift from my husband’s daughter. My husband’s name was Oberyn Martell…he was a Prince of Dorne….and I am,” Sansa sighs heavily, “a Princess of Dorne.”

“Well that certainly explains a lot,” he says flatly, glowering at her, “Your knowledge of Dorne, your passion for their strength.” He frowns, turning his gaze away from her, “You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie,” Sansa tells him quietly, “I merely omitted a certain truth. I knew…I was afraid to tell you Aegon,” Sansa sighs softly, “I was afraid…and I’m sorry. Where I’m from, there is no war with Dorne…you complete the conquest…the Martells and the Targaryens are _family_. Here though, here there is war and bitter resentment…”

“And you thought I would turn on you if I knew the truth,” he asks flatly, looking almost hurt. “You honestly believed I’d turn on you. Have I not given you every comfort? Have I not done everything I can to help you? Yet you still think it wise to hide this from me.”

“I’m sorry,” Sansa says softly, hating herself when she sees the hurt in his eyes. He was her friend and she failed him.

“If you had come to me and told me the truth I would have believed you,” he tells her, the tips of his fingers hooked under her chin so she has to look him in the eye as he speaks, “If you had come to me, I would have understood. Yet instead of telling me the truth you hid this from me. How am I to help you if you won’t confide the truth in me? If you feel you cannot trust me, how can I help you?”

“I’m sorry,” Sansa murmurs, staring at her hands. When she risks a glance up at Aegon, he’s gone back to his paperwork, his quill scrawling across the parchment beneath his hands neatly.

“Go,” he says and waves her off, “Leave me…I have work to finish. We will discuss this again at length later.”

“As you wish,” Sansa says quietly and stands, forcing herself to walk rather than run from his study. Feeling like a scolded child, she returns to the North wing and locks herself away there, hiding from the world. She never meant to hurt him; he was the first friend she’d made here. He’d been so good to her and she failed him. She was going to tell him, she wanted to tell him, she just never seemed to find a good time to do it. With a sigh she scrubs the tears from her face and goes up to her study, pulling out her journal and beginning to write again, and not just about her day but writing to someone who would understand, someone who she’d  give almost anything to talk to again.

_Arya….I made a mistake…_

 

* * *

 

 It’s noon when a knock on her door disrupts her thoughts. Glancing up, she expects to see Aegon but instead sees Visenya. Blinking at her, Sansa closes her journal and puts it away. “Yes?”

She just keeps grinning at her, almost _triumphantly_.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Sansa glowers, “You could have gotten me arrested… _killed_!”

“Oh I knew he wasn’t going to kill or arrest you,” Visenya waves her off, “If I wanted you dead I’d do it myself. Actually, I have other plans for you. I needed him to see how knowledgeable you are about Dorne before I showed him the dagger; I wanted to plant the seed in his mind first.”

“What?” Sansa blinks at her.

“Between the two of us,” Visenya tells her, “I bet we could talk him into letting you go to Dorne for us.”

“And why would I go to Dorne for you?” Sansa asks, already knowing where this is going. She should have expected as much from Visenya, especially after Visenya found the dagger and learned of her marriage to Oberyn. This would explain so much, including her presence in the small council and Visenya’s questions. She had thought it a bit odd being included in the council, but a Princess in the council isn’t unheard of.

“To complete the conquest of course,” Visenya tells her pointedly, “you know the people, you know the land. You can reason with them where we can’t.”

“He’ll never let me go,” Sansa points out, “I think you know that.”

“Not if we can sway his mind,” Visenya replies, “People are easy; you just need to know how to motivate them.”

Frowning Sansa replies, “I don’t want to manipulate Aegon.”

“Well we have to finish the conquest at some point,” Visenya tells her, “and if Aegon keeps burning Dorne there won’t be a kingdom left for us to conquer by the time he’s done. Doesn’t that _bother_ you that he’s burning your former kingdom?”

She was trying to manipulate _her_ …she was using Dornes suffering to sway her mind….

“Visenya,” Sansa says flatly, “He’ll never agree to it.”

“Oh I think he will at some point,” Visenya replies, “He’s stubborn but he’ll see the usefulness of your knowledge of Dorne and the advantages you have.”

It would feel like she was being used to manipulate _Dorne_. Like everyone and everything around Visenya were puppets and she was the puppet master, it reminded her far too much of the witch to make her feel comfortable. We’re all the Valerian people this manipulative and ambitious? Did they _all_ crave power and conquest like Visenya? Aegon didn’t seem that way, he seemed like he genuinely meant well, like he was tired of the bickering of seven kingdoms and wanted to unite them to end the fighting. Aegon’s heart was kind, though fierce if tested. Visenya was vengeful and vindictive if tested, but Sansa occasionally would see a spark of love and kindness in her, especially when around her son Maegor.

“He’s burning Dorne?” Sansa says after some thought, “I haven’t exactly seen him go on any nightly rides.”

“No,” Visenya tells her, “He does it occasionally, when the mood strikes him. Usually it’s when they make an attempt on his life. Dorne’s been sending knives this way for ages after the death of Rhaenys. It’s been a bitter and difficult war between us.”

She could end that, Sansa thinks to herself. She could try at least, and reason with the Princess of Dorne. Her name was Meria Martell if Sansa remembered right, and Meria refused Rhaenys outright. It might be a difficult chore…but what if Sansa went about it differently. Dorne won’t respond to outright threats, it’ll only make them fight back harder, but if Sansa went to Dorne unannounced without a dragon...

“If I were to go,” Sansa says after a moment, “I will go without a dragon, and I will go alone. No armies, no swords, and no threats. Dorne is like a wild animal trapped in a corner, it will attack to defend itself if threatened.”

“No dragon?” Visenya raises her eyebrows, “You’re just going to climb onto a horse and ride to Dorne by yourself?”

“You can give me a lift and drop me in Braavos. I’ll get a horse from there and ride for Dorne,” Sansa suggests. “I will face these people as one of them, and not some outsider trying to steal their home.”

“ _Alone_?” Visenya says skeptically, “Are you sure that’s safe?”

“No,” Sansa replies evenly, “It isn’t safe, it’s incredibly dangerous actually. Yet I’m not going to land on Dornish soil on the back of a dragon. The last time a dragon came to Dorne, their people burned in the streets and their homes were destroyed.”

“Fine,” Visenya concurs hesitantly, “but I’m coming with you.”

“You can’t,” Sansa tells her softly, “Your hair will stand out to much, they’ll recognize you.”

“And they won’t recognize you?” Visenya quirks a brow at her, “Word of the _Red Targaryen_ spreads like wildfire you know.”

“True,” Sansa debates for a moment, “I’ll just have to keep my head covered…I’ll dress like the common folk. If you’re coming with me you’ll have to do the same.”

“If I must,” Visenya replies, “we need to convince Aegon before we do anything however.”

Sansa nods, “Get to work then.”

“ _Oh no_ ,” Visenya smiles wanly at her, “You’re going to convince him, not me. I think after the other night you would know that he doesn’t care for anything I have to say anymore.”

“I’m not family,” Sansa replies, “I’ve only been here six or seven months. It would be wrong to take liberties like that.”

“Kind of like how you delegated punishment?” Visenya says flatly and then adds, “I think if Aegon will let you make decisions regarding _my_ son, then he’ll let you make decisions regarding Dorne, or at the very least he’ll hear you out.”

Sansa lets out a breath of frustration, “Visenya, when will you let this go? I was saving Aenys and Maegor from humiliation. What if Orys witnessed that? The _crown prince_ being pummeled to bits by his little brother? _Then what_?”

“Then maybe people will start to see that _my_ son should be the one to inherit,” Visenya says flatly, “Aenys doesn’t have the backbone.”

“You do realize it takes _two_ people to make a baby don’t you?” Sansa replies irritably, “Maegor is Aegon’s son as well.”

“Aegon’s always doted upon Aenys because he is Rhaenys’s child,” Visenya tells her, “If Maegor were Rhaenys’s Aegon would care more.”

“Aegon loves them both,” Sansa tells her softly, “and as for you, it goes both ways. When was the last time you spent the day with Aenys? He needs a Mother figure in his life right now.”

“Why would he need me?” Visenya narrows her gaze at Sansa as she turns to leave, “He has _you_ apparently. Talk to Aegon, make him see reason. We need to get Dorne into the fold.” She leaves after that, and Sansa rubs her face tiredly. Aegon probably didn’t want to talk to her anyways, and she wasn’t about to go looking for him. She would wait till he came to her; she wasn’t going to push him to talk to her.

 

* * *

 

Days pass and Sansa only catches glimpses of Aegon every now and then. On several occasions she’s tried to talk to him, but he was either busy or the door to his study was shut and she didn’t have the nerve to knock.  Eventually she gives up all together and spends most of her time in her study, locked away in the tower with books and scrolls. She needed to find the key anyways, she needed to focus. She might have years and years before it became necessary that she find it quickly, but all the same she needed to start looking for it. At some point she knew she had to go beyond the wall again and speak with Leaf. Leaf could probably answer some of the questions she had, or at the very least point her in the right direction.

When the door to her study opens without warning she glances up from the parchment she was writing on and blinks at Aegon. He stands in the door way, staring at her staring at him. “You know,” he begins without so much as a _good afternoon_ , “It isn’t that you didn’t tell me right away that bothers me so much as the fact that you _know_. You _know_ everything I’ve done, everything I’m going to do and you haven’t murdered me in my _sleep_ for it. You just smile at me and share stories and you forgive me without batting so much as an eyelash. I burned your people, I burned their homes for what they did to Rhaenys and you just forgive me for it without a second thought. What kind of monster you must think me to be…” he sighs heavily, rubbing his face tiredly.

“I understand why you did it though,” Sansa tells him softly. He’s clearly frustrated, his shoulders tense. He must have been dwelling on this for a long while. “You are Aegon the Conqueror. In the history books you’re one of the greatest warrior kings who ever lived, and I don’t think you’re a monster Aegon, I think you’re a good man. You were ever faithful to your wives, you lived by a code of honor, you were just and you were kind, and you were reasonable. The only dark days of your reign were Harrenhal and Dorne. I don’t hate you for what you did Aegon…I was more afraid that you would hate me because of who _I_ am, who I married.”

“But I wouldn’t be so unreasonable as to despise you for it,” Aegon frowns at her, “It happens centuries from now, and things are different. You told me that the war with Dorne is over where you’re from.”

“I know,” Sansa smiles wanly, “it was silly of me to keep it from you, but you and I have only known each other for half a year at least. You’re clearly still angry with Dorne and you still grieve Rhaenys deeply. I felt telling you that I was once the wife of a Martell would at the very least anger you, or make you resent me a little.”

“Am I really so unreasonable?” Aegon asks her, pacing the length of her study.

“When it comes to Rhaenys you are,” Sansa replies gently, “I’m just as unreasonable when it comes to Oberyn. Love makes people blind to certain truths Aegon, it makes us biased. If I were in your shoes the very word _Dorne_ would send me into a rage, the very idea that someone so precious to me, someone I loved so dearly was ripped away from me so suddenly in such a cruel and harsh manner. If anyone ever did to Blackfyre what they did to Meraxes I would lose my mind I tell you….and with Rhaenys…”

Aegon narrows his gaze at her curiously, “How did _you_ know what they did to Rhaenys?”

“Oberyn told me,” Sansa replies, “It is one of the greatest kept secrets in Dorne. They keep to their word and never tell anyone what they wrote to you in that missive.”

Aegon snorts derisively, “and yet they still send hired knives to murder me and mine, _hypocrites_. And let me tell you,” Aegon says pointedly to her, “I already know what you and Visenya have been cooking up and the answer is _no_. It doesn’t take a brilliant man to realize that you two are planning something involving Dorne. I had _thought_ it was odd that she wanted you in the small council that morning…then she brought me that dagger and I _knew_ she was up to something.”

“Believe me, you weren’t the only one surprised that morning,” Sansa says dryly, recalling the events.

“She’s clever,” Aegon nods, “I’ll give her that.”

“ _Very_ ,” Sansa agrees with a faint smile.

“I feel ridiculous now,” Aegon admits to her quietly, “the both of us were avoiding one another because we were worried about the same thing.”

“Then let us make a pact,” Sansa tells him gently, “I vow to keep no secrets from you ever again if you will vow to do the same. If we have something to say to each other, then we say it.”

“Agreed,” Aegon replies, a small smile curving his lips.

“Good,” Sansa smiles at him, “Then just a heads up, I’m going to Dorne.”

Aegon’s smile falls flat, “No you aren’t.”

“I am,” Sansa sings aloud as she stands, putting away the notes she’d been writing.

“You aren’t,” he replies firmly.

“Aegon,” Sansa sighs as she looks at him, “I vowed to hold no secrets from you. I tell you I am going to Dorne even if you are displeased about it. Visenya’s coming with me if that helps.”

“No she _isn’t_ ,” Aegon sputters, suddenly feeling particularly surrounded.

“Two against one,” Sansa smiles sweetly at him, “I win.”

“Absolutely not,” he replies firmly, “I won’t allow it Sansa, I _forbid_ it.”

“Then forbid all you want,” Sansa tells him pointedly, “I’m still going. Visenya and I have worked it out. We’ll sail to Braavos; from there we take horses to Dorne. We go unarmed and without dragons this time. The last time Targaryens were in Dorne their homes were set on fire and there people were killed in the streets. I’m going on horseback, and I’m going to talk to them one on one. I will make no demands, I will make no threats, I simply want peace. We will lay down our weapons if they put down theirs.” When Aegon opens his mouth to protest, an angry blush high on his cheeks she cuts him off, “and we will not be demanding they swear fealty to you either. Dorne will retain its own regency and control of its people. They will _hopefully_ over time join the seven Kingdoms; we just need to show them that we’re trustworthy.”

“And if they refuse you?” Aegon quirks an eyebrow at her expectantly, lilac eyes ablaze with both frustration at her stubbornness and her defiance flaring in his eyes.

“Then I leave,” Sansa tells him, “Plan and simple. I don’t threaten them if they turn me down, I simply apologize and leave. I lived in Dorne Aegon, I know these people and I know how they think. If you plan on being King of the seven kingdoms someday, you need to trust me a little.”

“You’re taking Vhagar,” he says flatly, his lips a thin line.

“I’m not,” Sansa replies stubbornly, “It would appear too threatening. No dragons.”

“They’re _dangerous_ Sansa,” Aegon replies firmly, “I won’t let you and Visenya go unprotected.”

“If they’re brave enough to attack _Visenya_ ,” Sansa scoffs allowed, “Then I pity them if they try.”

“And what of you?” he quirks an eyebrow, “what if they attack _you_?”

Sansa smiles faintly at him, “Oh I’m as dangerous as they come, you’ve never seen me with a shoe.”

He blinks at her, caught off guard by her teasing, “This is no joking matter Sansa.”

“You need to lighten up Aegon,” Sansa smiles softly, patting his shoulder, “I understand your fears, but you need to let go of the reigns a little, you’re holding them too tightly. Life is about risk, and if you never take risks, nothing ever gets done. I know you’re scared because of what happened with Rhaenys, but if you never let me try, you’ll never know what might have been. What if I succeed?”

“What if you _fail_ ,” he presses, “what if you _die_?”

“Then you will find the key,” Sansa replies softly, “and you will make sure my family finds it for me.”

He just glares at her stubbornly and she smiles, brushing a stray curl of silver away from his face, “Just trust me. If you want me to trust you, I need you to trust me too. Also, I want my dagger back.”

“I have it here,” he says after a beat, pulling it from his belt, “did you know the head of the snake twists off? I found a vial of poison inside it.”

“Tyene must have put it there,” Sansa says, examining the head of the snake and then the vial contained within, “She’s excellent with poisons of every kind. Oberyn was too, he spent years and years in a citadel learning every kind of poison and antidote there is.”

“And what kind of sort is that?” Aegon asks, nodding towards the vial.

“The deadliest kind,” Sansa replies, “It kills instantly. I think she meant for me to use it if I had no other way out.”

Aegon nods thoughtfully, “A dagger to defend yourself and a poison to end it all rather than be taken prisoner and tortured to death. She thought of everything it seems.”

“All of his daughters were warriors,” Sansa replies softly, “He has eight daughters and one son, who his Paramour and I named after him.”

“A paramour?” Aegon frowns at her, “He was not yours solely?”

“No,” Sansa sighs, “but I’m alright with that. I loved him too much to care honestly.”

“The child was by his paramour then I take it?” Aegon quirks an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Sansa nods, dropping down into the chair behind her desk across from him, “Her name was Ellaria. When I met them both they’d been together for over ten years, and had many children together. I think if she’d been highborn he would have married her, but because she was natural born he couldn’t. It worked out though I suppose, because he saved me from the Lannisters and carried me off to Dorne and married me.”

“Tell me,” Aegon says quietly as he watches her, “If we vowed only truth between us then tell me how you came to be his wife. Anything you tell me I will not take into consideration in any future event during my reign. I want no secrets between us.”

Sansa considers him for a moment and says softly, “You won’t like some of it. Some of it regards the Targaryen family and what happens to them.”

“I want to know regardless,” he replies evenly.

“Very well,” Sansa says softly and meets his gaze, “We’d better have them bring up dinner if I’m going to do this…it’s a very long story.”

 

* * *

 

Supper is beef stew and red wine, with some of the pastries from the baker in the village left over for desert. After Sansa had finished her story Aegon is silent for a long while, pensive and thoughtful. She’s afraid she’s told him too much, that he might lash out at the Baratheon’s but he promised he wouldn’t. “It’s three hundred years from now Aegon,” Sansa says softly, “Robert Baratheon only did it because he was in love with the woman that your grandson kidnapped and ran off with.”

Aegon frowns into his goblet, taking a sip, “I understand that Sansa….but Orys is my _Hand_. He’s a good and loyal friend…it just shocks me that his family would come to that one day.”

“It wasn’t just the Baratheon’s fault you know,” Sansa says quietly, “the Starks were involved too.”

“Yes,” Aegon replies, “but that I can understand. My grandson burned your Uncle and your Grandfather alive on a whim.” He sighs, frowning at the table, “Is this what my legacy becomes Sansa? Does my family become something so disgustingly degenerate as all that? What _happened_?”

“You died,” Sansa tells him softly, “When you left this world Aegon, nobody ever came along who was as great as you are. Many have tried….Daeron Targaryen was called the Young Dragon because he tried his best to bring Dorne into the fold and very nearly succeeded in completing the conquest. Bailor Targaryen walked barefoot all the way to Dorne to make peace…he nearly succeeded. So many valiant and noble men, brave and fierce but they weren’t _you_.”

“Then I have the solution,” Aegon smiles wanly at Sansa, “I must endeavor to live forever.”

Sansa smiles a little, “Yes…if only. I think half the problems that happened in my day would never have happened at all if you’d been there to stop them.”

Aegon grins a little, “It’s a wonder you haven’t given me a big head over this.”

“It is,” Sansa laughs, “I should stop or you won’t fit through the door.”

“You probably should,” he chuckles into his wine glass.

Sansa sips her own wine, the warmth of it making her head a little fuzzy and her body relaxed. Leaning back in her desk chair she sighs, glancing towards the window as the sun sets. “So beautiful.” She says allowed and then blushes, “Sorry…I think the wine has gone to my head a bit.”

He nods, “Indeed,” and then he sighs and rubs his face, “how long have we been here?”

“Hours,” Sansa nods thoughtfully, “I think people might conclude that you got lost on your way up the tower steps.”

He laughs, mirth glittering in his lilac eyes, “Just imagine the gossip.”

“I don’t need too,” Sansa giggles a little, “my hand maiden is the biggest gossip in the seven kingdoms, I can hear her talking about _everything_ in the morning when she and the others come to clean my bed chambers.”

“Oh?” Aegon quirks an eyebrow and grins.

“Did you know that Loren Lannister’s niece just bore a bastard child to their stable boy?” Sansa grins at him. “Because I didn’t.”

“ _Sweet seven_ ,” Aegon tells her, “He must be having one hell of a time covering _that_ up.”

Sansa giggles a little into her goblet, “can you imagine the look on his face when he found out?” The two chuckle at the thought as the light of the sun fades below the mountainside and the study grows dim. Sansa rises to light a few candles, while behind her Aegon finishes the last of his wine.

“I should probably try and get some work done,” he says aloud, “I’ve spent most of the day trying to work out what to say to you.”

Glancing back at him, “We’ll I hope we can put that behind us now. I want us to be able to say anything to each other.”

“We’re you so open with all your siblings?” he asks curiously.

“No,” Sansa tells him, “Arya and I weren’t keen to share secrets with one another, we were far too different. She wanted to play with swords and I wanted to sew pillows. She wanted to go horseback riding and I was worried I’d dirty my gown. I tried once, to play swords with her though. I ended up hitting myself in the face…it was horrid.” Aegon laughs and Sansa blushes brightly, “It’s really not that funny you know.”

“I’m sorry,” he grins at her, “I’m just imagining it in my head is all.”

Sansa grins at him wryly, “It _might_ have been a little funny.”

“When Rhaenys was a girl she tried to learn sword craft with Visenya. I think at first she was doing it to try and impress me. She tried so hard too, one day I found her weeping in her bed chambers because she had blisters on her hands from practicing. I told her she didn’t have to swing a sword to impress me; I was already smitten with her.”

Suddenly in the back of her mind she remembers the bow mounted on the wall in Rhaenys’s room but she dares not ask about it. The silence between them lengthens, both musing on the past. Finally Aegon stands and runs a hand through his silver short curls, “I need to get _something_ done today. I’m glad we’ve sorted out our differences though.”

“So am I,” Sansa smiles reassuringly as he turns to leave, “I’ll be here if you need me.”

He nods, “We’ll you know where I’ll be,” he sighs but there’s mirth in his eyes, “I really do get tired of paperwork.”

When he’s gone Sansa sighs in relief. There is warmth blooming in her chest, a joy and a relief that they’d fixed things. She didn’t want to lose her only friend, and Aegon was a good friend to have. Turning she faces the window and the inviting evening breeze. Her mind drifts towards Oberyn, and she could almost imagine his amusement at her current situation. “It’s really not that funny you know,” she says aloud, “He’s just my friend. Granted….I have no idea what I’m going to do about Dorne. I really hope I can fix it.”

Silence greets her but somewhere she knows he’s telling her she’ll be fine and that she can do it. Oberyn was always supportive that way.

 

 


	89. Chapter 89

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Present Day**

 

Jon Snow laid his head upon the table he was sitting at and closed his eyes. He and the others have been at it for hours and have found nothing. He was beginning to think that Sansa never found the key and maybe they weren’t going to find it either. Tyrion’s conclusion was that they in order to find the key, they had to find Sansa first.

“She’s got to be here somewhere,” Tyrion says aloud, glancing at the exhausted Jon Snow from across the room, “but I assure you she’s not hiding behind your eye lids.”

“I’m tired,” Jon’s voice replies, muffled against the table.

“We’re all tired,” Tyrion tells him wearily, “I’ve had most of the relics of the Targaryen era sent to the citadel in Old town. Yet I think I put a few of the older books here in this library. Mostly just genealogy and family history in case Daenerys was ever curious.”

“How is any of that going to help us?” Jon says wearily, “Like I said…I can’t give you any exact dates. She keeps talking about Aegon and Oberyn…there are a few times she’s writing to Arya about certain things…I never actually finished the whole journal to be honest.”

“Well I did,” Arya’s voice now, and Jon raises his head to look towards the door way. She’s standing there with the book in her hands, “I can’t believe you didn’t finish it.”

“She kept prattling on about Aegon,” Jon tells her, “I felt like I was invading her privacy.”

“She was talking about me?” Aegon asks, glancing up from a book he was reading through, “Why me?”

“You really didn’t read very far did you?” Arya shots Aegon a withering look before she frowns at Jon, “ _She’s talking about Aegon the Conqueror_.”

“What?” Tyrion’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, “As in…Aegon the _first_? That was over three _hundred_ years ago.”

“Which means I know exactly where Sansa is,” Arya replies with a nod.

“Dead,” Jon supplies for Arya, suddenly looking very somber, “She’s dead.”

“Well not exactly,” Arya tells him, “it depends on how you look at it really. She’s technically alive right now, wherever the children sent her. In our time she’s dead; in hers she’s still very much alive and _safe_. That’s what’s important right now.”

“So that narrows it down,” Tyrion tells them, “Except we need to know _where_ she is, now that we know _when_ she is.”

“I know,” Aegon’s voice breaks through the conversation, his expression a mixture of disbelief and shock. His eyes are riveted upon a drawing in the book he’s currently reading. Arya walks over and leans over his shoulder, peering down at the image. Abruptly she starts to laugh and Aegon’s cheeks burn pink in embarrassment.

“It’s not _funny_ ,” Aegon sputters.

“Oh yes it is,” Arya giggles furiously, “It’s absolutely _fantastic_!”

“Shut up,” Aegon says pointedly, the tips of his ears turning pink now.

“Targaryen tradition upholds!” Arya continues to giggle as Jon steps over and looks down at the image.

“ _By the seven_ ,” Jon breaths, and suddenly he starts to grin at Aegon too, “You tried to kiss your _great grandmother_.”

“ _Jon_!” Aegon eyes snap up to his half-brother, “I told you that in confidence!”

“I know I’m sorry,” he grins a little as he glances at Arya, “she wormed it out of me.”

“ _What_?” Tyrion blinks at them all, stepping around to look at the page as well. There in the drawing stood Aegon the Conqueror in the middle, and on his left stood Visenya Targaryen but to his right stood Sansa.

“The forgotten queen,” Tyrion muses allowed as he reads along the excerpt beneath the drawing, “Sansa Targaryen, first of her name, queen of the seven kingdoms…”

“Well,” Arya muses allowed once the laughter had subsided, “at least we know she’s happy.”

“How can you know that?” Jon asks Arya, “How do we know she’s happy with him?”

“ _You_ haven’t read the whole journal,” Arya smirks at her cousin, “I _have_.”

“Apparently he pawned her off as his half-sister,” Tyrion says as he reads, “Which means we’ll find her in the royal Targaryen family tomb in the sept of Bailor.”

“She may have been buried with the key,” Jon says, suddenly animated by the idea.

“Targaryens cremate their dead,” Tyrion tells him, “its Targaryen tradition.”

“We’ll let’s stop sitting here and go get that key,” Aegon chimes in, hauling himself up to his feet. He leans heavily on a polished black wooden cane.

“I think you probably ought to just sit here,” Jon tells Aegon, “We’ll go get it and you just…think about your _grandmother_.”

Aegon shoots him a sour look, “ _Very funny_.”

“No but you should stay here,” Tyrion tells Aegon, “You’ll only slow us down.” He turns and walks off, Jon and Arya trailing behind him.

“That was cruel,” Arya tells Tyrion flatly.

“That was reverse psychology,” Tyrion tells her, “He thinks he’s useless because he has a bum leg.”

They can hear Aegon behind them, and Tyrion grins. “See, he’s a fighter. Tell someone they can’t do something and they'll fight like hell to do it anyways.”

 

* * *

 

**Present Day**

 

In the sept of Bailor, Jon works at prying up the gates in the floor that lead to the Targaryen catacombs beneath. “This is sacrilege,” Jon tells Tyrion pointedly, “and illegal.”

“We’re desperate,” Tyrion replies, “and I don’t think anyone’s going to care if it means were protecting the realm.”

“Oh budge over,” Aegon says as he steps past Tyrion to help Jon lift the iron gate. Tyrion takes a moment to grin at Arya knowingly as his gaze shifts between her and Aegon. Arya just rolls her eyes and steps forward to peer down into the catacombs beneath, “So my sister is down _there_.”

“Theoretically,” Tyrion says, “yes.”

“Buried alongside Aegon the Conqueror,” Arya muses allowed, “its suiting.”

“So whose going down there?” Jon asks, peering into the inky black darkness below.

“Me,” Aegon says, “It’s my family, so I’m going down there.”

“Aegon you can barely walk,” Arya says, trying not to hurt his feelings, “I don’t mean to point that out, but you really can’t.”

“There are _stairs_ Arya,” Aegon says, “I can do it.”

“Alright children,” Tyrion cuts in, “No bickering…we’re _all_ going because quite frankly I’m not going to miss an opportunity to stand in the hall of the Targaryen Kings and witness Aegon the Conqueror’s tomb myself.”

“You do realize,” Jon says as he fetches a torch from a wall nearby, holding it up to light his way down the stairs, “That we’ll have to break into Sansa’s tomb don’t you?”

“I’m sure she’ll understand,” Tyrion replies and then frowns at Arya, “Where are you going?”

“I’ve forgotten something,” Arya says, hurrying towards the doors of the sept, “I’ll catch up!”

Jon watches her go curiously, “I think I know what she forgot.”

“Do you?” Tyrion asks, stepping down into the inky black darkness behind Jon. Aegon brings up the back, carefully balancing himself on both his cane and the wall.

“Not very clean down here,” Tyrion grimaces, wiping the grime from his fingers from where he pressed his hand against one of the walls.

“It’s been years since anyone’s been down here,” Jon tells him, “I doubt they’d be concerned about cleanliness.”

“When my family was in power,” Aegon says to them, “These halls were open. They were well kept…my family used to bring flowers and gifts for my great grandfather’s tomb on his name day each year.”

They feel their way down through the long black marble corridors, the torchlight flickering off stone depictions of dragons. Finally they reach a pair of  closed double doors which with the weight of both Aegon and Jon they manage to push open. Inside the room is pitch black until Jon lights the long extinguished torches on the walls. The it is a wide circular room lined with large black marble pillars. The floors and wall are made of polished black marble as well, and in the center of the room on the floor the Targaryen sigil was painted on it.  Along the walls were black marble urns containing the ashes of every family member from Aegon the Conqueror all the way to up to Rhaegar Targaryen himself.

The group splits up, searching each shelf for Sansa’s urn. Brushing the dust off one of them in particular Jon says allowed, “I found Father.”

Aegon steps closer, peering at the name on the urn, “Yes you did. Good job, not who were looking for though.”

“Aren’t you even the least bit curious?” Jon quirks an eyebrow at him.

“No,” Aegon says flatly, “piss on him.” He turns, walking along the walls, his fingers grazing the black marble until he stops near Aegon the Conqueror’s own urn. “I’ve found her. I figured they might keep her with his and Visenya’s urns.”

“Do you see anything?” Tyrion asks, walking over towards him.

Aegon peers closer, prying open the ornate mosaic glass doors that protected the urns of his ancestors, and stared into the marble shelf. “Nope, nothing, Just the urns.”

“Is Sansa in there?” Arya’s voice now, and when Jon turns to look at her she’s holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Where did you get those?” Jon frowns curiously at her.

“I nicked them off a flower cart in the city,” Arya supplies as she steps closer to peer into the shelf as well.

“Isn’t that stealing?” Jon asks her.

“Not really,” Arya replies, “The cities abandoned so technically the flowers belong to no one now.” Stepping forward, Arya slides the bouquet of flowers onto the shelf and stares up at the urns, particularly the one with Sansa’s name on it.

“Aegon,” Tyrion cuts in, “Why don’t we go back up into the sept and see if we can’t find anything? I have a feeling the key’s not down here.”

Aegon nods as he glances between Jon and Arya, taking the hint, “Yeah.”

When they’re gone, Arya looks at Jon worriedly, “Why would the history books leave her out Jon? What could Sansa have done that was so terrible that they’d make her little more than a footnote in history?”

“Maybe it was intentional,” Jon says thoughtfully, “Maybe Sansa _wanted_ to be left out of the history books. She was the Queen after all; she had the power to do that.”

Frowning Arya turns her gaze back to Sansa’s urn, “I want to have a proper funeral for her when this is all over. We can do it here in the sept, honor her as the Queen she was. We can fly the Stark banners as well as the Targaryen ones; it’ll symbolize the unity of our houses. I doubt she got that sort of funeral back then, she had to tell everyone she was his sister.”

Jon nods thoughtfully, “Something small but with all the family, Targaryen and Stark alike. We can’t make this public knowledge of course, but we can still honor her.” Then after a pause he adds, “How are we going to explain this Rickon?”

“I left Rickon with Uncle Benjen,” Arya tells him, “I heard you lot went to the Red Keep so I got on a boat back over here as soon as I could. I figure…I think we should just tell him the truth but make him promise to keep it a secret. Daenerys can work out the details for what we tell the banners, but in regards to the family…we just keep this quiet. Maybe we’ll tell Doran what happened too, and Ellaria. They can mourn with us if they chose.”

“What about the wardenship?” Jon asks her, “Sansa left everything to you.”

“I don’t want to think about that right now,” Arya tells him flatly, frowning, “it makes my head hurt just thinking about it. I don’t want to be wardeness but Sansa’s really left me no choice right now.”

“What about Uncle Benjen?” Jon suggests, “He can do it, and he has more claim then you since he’s no longer guarding the Wall.”

Arya nods thoughtfully, “That might work.”

Jon nods, “Uncle Benjen can take over until Rickon comes of age. Plus Rickon will have a stable Father figure in the house what with Oberyn gone.”

“Look at us,” Arya says almost bitterly, “talking like we’re ever going to go home again.”

“We are,” Jon says firmly, “just as soon as we find that damn key and get rid of those monsters.”

Arya nods somberly, “We should probably catch up with the others.”

“We should,” Jon agrees. Together the two leave side by side, Arya only pausing to glance back at Sansa’s urn mournfully before following Jon back up into the sept.

 

* * *

 

The weeks before Visenya and Sansa leave for Dorne are hectic. Sansa spends her days planning and Visenya spends her time plotting a course. There were to many places where a mistake could be made and both of them could be killed not to plan everything out ahead of time.

“Aegon,” Visenya tells her brother whose mind was elsewhere, his gaze on the sea outside his study window. “Aegon are listening?”

“Yes,” he sighs, “Go ahead Visenya.”

“I was saying that we can use the Lysian merchant traders, the ones we have ties with between us and Braavos. I think if we buy passage on one of them in Braavos itself we could sail right in Planky Town without anyone knowing were there.”

“How are you going to blend in?” Aegon quirks an eyebrow at her and Visenya glances at Sansa, who was sitting in a chair across from Aegon.

Sansa glances up, answering the question for Visenya, “We’ll have to color our hair…I was thinking…and Visenya you’re going to hate this, but your grandson Aegon the fifth, he dyed his hair blue to mask the color of his eyes. We could easily pass Visenya off as Lysian. I could color my hair brown…I’ve done it before. Nobody’s going to notice us like that I think.”

“ _Blue_?” Visenya reiterates, appalled at the notion, “You want me to dye my hair _blue_?”

“Yes,” Sansa tells her evenly.

“Why did my grandson dye his hair blue exactly?” Visenya asks her, her narrowed gaze curious.

“It was a phase,” Sansa replies without missing a beat, meeting Aegon’s knowing gaze only briefly. What she’d told Aegon would never be entrusted to anyone else, not even Visenya. He was the only one she could trust with the whole truth.

“How odd,” Visenya says, looking particularly disgruntled by the idea.

 “It was a difficult time in his life,” Sansa says cryptically and stares down at the notes she wrote down on a piece of parchment on her lap, “I want us to dress down…like common folk. They’ll never let us into the shadow city if they think were Targaryen for even moment.”

“And what are we going to do once we get _inside_?” Visenya asks her, quirking an eyebrow.

“Well,” Sansa says thoughtfully, “I’m going to try and reason with them. I won’t be demanding they swear fealty but I _will_ be asking for peace. We won’t attack them if they won’t attack us….a cease fire.”

“If that works we won’t have to worry about hired knives anymore at least,” Visenya ponders it for a moment, “but it doesn’t complete the conquest.”

“No,” Sansa agrees, “it won’t but it’s a start at least.”

“Listen to me, both of you;” Aegon says firmly to them both, “I want this quiet. You will leave under cover of nightfall and let no one see you leave. I will make excuses for you both at the Aegonfort. If Dorne catches wind that the two of you were seen leaving for Braavos, they’ll know somethings up.” Then as an afterthought he adds, “I can’t even _believe_ I’m agreeing to this.”

“Well you are,” Sansa reminds him, “now we need to focus. We have a day and a half left before we set sail and we need to get our story straight.”

“I’m taking Dark Sister,” Visenya tells Sansa pointedly, “I’m not going anywhere without my sword.”

“Fine,” Sansa tells her, “but keep it hidden. If they see that they’ll know exactly who you are.”

“What about you?” Aegon meets Sansa’s gaze, “you’ll need a weapon.”

“I have my dagger,” Sansa tells him.

“You should probably bring a sword just in case,” Visenya suggests aloud.

“I’m not very good with a sword,” Sansa admits, “I’m better off with my dagger really.”

“Back to the part where you get inside,” Aegon says to Sansa, “How are you going to get to the Martells exactly? It isn’t like they let peasants just walk through the front door Sansa.”

“I know every way in and out of Sunspear,” Sansa tells him evenly, “Oberyn made sure of it in case we were ever under attack. I can get us in through one of the back entrances.”

“It still leads to the question of,” Visenya tells Sansa, “ _what happens when they catch us_?”

This was the part where Sansa was uneasy telling Aegon about. She had no plans of taking Visenya into Sunspear with her. Visenya would understand the necessity of it, but Aegon was unreasonable when it came to a threat against one of his sisters. Aegon would stop the whole thing if he thought for even a moment that Sansa meant to go into Sunspear alone. “Well,” Sansa tells her, “I don’t plan on getting caught. I plan on using a rear hall that goes beneath the main hall and up from the cellars. From there…I want you to stay out of sight and let me deal with Meria Martell.”

“ _No_!” Both Aegon and Visenya say at once simultaneously.

“ _If_ ,” Sansa tells them both tentatively, “ _If_ I need help then Visenya can run in with her sword and hack people to pieces. But first at least let me try and reason with Meria Martell. Diplomacy often works better when the swords are left sheathed.”

“ _No_ ,” Visenya says pointedly, “Absolutely not. You’re not going into Sunspear _alone_!”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but I agree with Visenya,” Aegon tells Sansa, “You won’t even be armed save for a _dagger_.”

Sansa glowers at them both irritably, “Is brute force the _only_ way you two know how to communicate? If you go in there with a sword drawn nobody’s going to listen to anything you have to say. They witnessed both of you burn their homes to the ground on the backs of _dragons_. All you’ve ever shown any of them is _violence_ ; they need to see that the Targaryens can also be _reasonable_.”

“I _tried_ to reason with them,” Aegon says flatly, anger dancing in his eyes, “and they murdered my wife for it.”

“To be fair Aegon,” Sansa says softly, “She was burning their homes at the time too.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks and she can see she’s getting nowhere with him. Sighing she tosses the parchment on his desk and leans back in her chair, “You’re going to have to step out of your comfort zone a little if you plan on getting anything done Aegon. I know what they did to Rhaenys was awful, but you’ve hurt them too. If they came here with spears and swords, you’d think them threatening too. We need to show them we mean them no harm, that the time of dragon fire and vengeance is _over_.”

He’s breathing heavily through his nose, clearly trying to contain his temper. Finally he says in an even voice laced with exhaustion and worry, “Visenya will remain close by….under no circumstances will she let you out of her sight.”

“Then she’d best find a spot to watch me where nobody can see her,” Sansa replies pointedly, “Please just trust me on this Aegon.”

“I’m _trying_ ,” he tells her, “but it’s difficult when it comes to something like this.”

“And just for the record,” Visenya tells Sansa flatly, “I do _not_ hack people to pieces, that’s barbaric.”

“ _Enough_ ,” Aegon cuts in, “both of you, Leave me for a while and let me think on this.”

He two stand obediently and leave, Aegon turning away from them as he gazes out towards the sea deep in thought. Sansa could tell he was worried about this, that it was pushing him out of his comfort zone allowing them to do this.

Outside in the hall, Sansa and Visenya walk side by side quietly. Finally Visenya breaks the silence, “I need to speak with our contacts in the Lysian trading market. If Aegon asks, that’s where I’ve gone.”

Sansa nods as she watches Visenya go, “While your down there, grab what we need to make dye.”

“ _Blue_ ,” Visenya scowls as she goes, muttering irritably, “I don’t see why we can’t dye _your_ hair blue as well.”

 “The blue will offset your eyes and make them look blue,” Sansa calls to her; “Your eyes would give you away.”

“Whatever,” Visenya mutters as she turns a corner and heads out to the courtyard.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day is spent in quiet solitude, Sansa spending most of it alone in the library. At dinner she eats with Aenys alone, the hall empty and quiet. Even Visenya is absent, which surprised Sansa because she expected at least for her to show up.

“Father’s holding himself up in his study again,” Aenys supplies for her when he notes her expression.

“I see,” Sansa says thoughtfully, “We’ll somebody should go get him don’t you think?” Sansa tells him pointedly as she stands, leaving her napkin neatly folded on the table.

“I wonder where Mother is,” Aenys adds, “She should have been home by now.”

“She’ll be back soon,” Sansa reassures him, thinking of what Visenya told her earlier, “and I’ll be back soon too, I’m going to fetch your Father.”

In the long stone corridors of the keep Sansa follows the torchlight up the stairs and around the corner towards Aegon’s study. Yet on the way there, she hears another noise, and it sounds distinctly like Visenya’s voice. Pausing she turns towards the sound and follows it, right up to the doors of the east wing.

Rhaenys’s wing.

_“Aegon...you can’t go on like this.”_

_“Leave me.”_

_“Aegon don’t be difficult…come away from the window, come down and sit with the family for dinner.”_

_“I said leave me Visenya.”_

_“You can’t sit in this stuffy dark room forever Aegon.”_ Visenya’s voice, worried and concerned _, “You do this every time something puts you on edge.”_

 _“Go away Visenya!”_ Aegon’s voice, sharp as the crack of a whip.

“ _Fine_ ,” Visenya’s voice, sour and irritated.

Sansa stumbles away from the door with wide eyes as Visenya yanks it open and steps out. Blushing brightly at being caught snooping, Sansa just stares at Visenya staring at her. Finally Visenya sneers at her, anger burning in her eyes, “ _You_ deal with him, he won’t listen to me.” She throws a towel in Sansa’s face and stalks off, anger radiating off of her in waves. Staring down at the towel in her hands and then at the door, she debates whether she should go in.

She doesn’t have to debate very long when the sound something crashing to the floor startles her. Jumping at the noise she tentatively opens the door and peers inside. Aegon’s on his knees and there’s a small oval table overturned. “Aegon?” Sansa says softly, slightly afraid that he might be angry with her for being there at all.

“Go away,” he snaps and she jumps at the sharpness of his tone.

Frowning she peers into the darkness of the room and watches him stumble to his feet, swaying a little. Realization dawns on her and she darts towards him, catching him under the arm before he falls. He leans heavily on her as she helps him over to a nearby chair.

Now she understood why Visenya had the towel…he was _drunk_ ….what if he got sick?

“Easy,” Sansa tells him gently, brushing short silver curls of hair away from his face, “Just sit for a bit.”

Glancing around she spots an overturned empty pitcher of wine and a goblet that had rolled away towards what Sansa thought might be a closet door. Quickly she cleans up the mess of red wine staining the stone floor with the towel Visenya gave her and grabs both the pitcher and goblet, setting them outside the room and well out of Aegon’s reach. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly into the darkness, “I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“It’s fine,” Sansa replies softly.

“ _Its fine_ ,” he echoes with a hint of bitter sarcasm, “ _It’s alright_ ,” he continues on but without the sarcasm now, his voice somber and soft, “You’re always forgiving me.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong Aegon,” Sansa tells him gently.

“I’ve done a great deal _wrong_ ,” he scowls at her, “I got my wife killed. I murdered hundreds of innocent people because _one_ Martell decided to destroy the most precious thing in my life.”

“I think,” Sansa says gently as she steps closer to him, pulling a chair up so she can sit by him, “That you need to forgive yourself _first_ , before you can forgive _them_.”

“ _How can you even say that to me_?” he tells her, fierce anger and bitter sorrow in his eyes, “After what I did to your people, how can you above all others _say that to me_?”

He was drunk, and he was miserable. Sansa could see that clearly and he wasn’t being rational right now. She needed to get him out of this room and into his own bed. Her heart ached for him and she felt guilt welling up in her like a living thing. She did this to him with her pushing, and her pushing made him panic. “We all do bad things Aegon,” Sansa tells him, “When I was eleven, I told Cersei Lannister what my Father had said about leaving…and that tipped her off that my Father knew the truth and he was getting ready to run. I got half my family killed Aegon, because I was a stupid eleven year old girl who didn’t want to leave what I believed to be my _prince_ , my perfect prince from a story. He turned out to be a villain…a monster even. He forced me to watch as they beheaded my own Father and then he made me stare at my Father’s head on a spike along the castle walls.” Bitterness welled in Sansa’s heart at the memory, anger dancing in her eyes and in her voice, “Do you know how long I blamed myself for that? I blamed myself for my Father’s death…for Robb having to go to war…for the Lannisters murdering my brother and my Mother. They threw my Mothers naked body into the Blackwater.” The very memory of it made Sansa want to vomit. Telling him these things stirred horrible memories, horrible feelings. “My point is Aegon,” Sansa tells him gently, “That her death wasn’t your fault. Yes you did bad things because of it…but you’re not that person anymore, and you need to let go of it and forgive yourself.”

He is silent for so long she wonders for a moment if he’s fallen asleep. Then he speaks, and his voice is laced with ice, “Are you certain I can’t just kill all the Lannisters _now_?”

Sansa smiles bitterly, “I wish…I’d help. Yet we cannot do that. Hundreds of generations of Lannisters are entirely innocent of the crime and it wouldn’t be fair to punish them for the crimes of another.”

“I’m _King_ ,” Aegon says darkly, “I can easily just leave behind a royal decree to kill the Lannister twins.”

“A three hundred year old royal decree? They’ll think you a dreamer like Daenys,” Sansa muses allowed, a tiny smile on her lips, “Just imagine.”

Aegon smiles a little, “Well according to you they already think I’m the greatest King in the history of Westeros,” and then he adds a little softer and very serious, “I could do it you know….if you want me to. I could have them killed. They’d never hurt your family if I did it.”

Sansa smiles at him, taking his right hand in hers and kissing the knuckles, “Your very sweet Aegon…but if you do that then you and I will never meet. I would never sacrifice that, I’m glad to know you. Besides…if you do that and we never meet, then you never know to kill them in the first place.”

Aegon looks sour for a moment, “I suppose your right.”

“There is a great deal of darkness in the world Aegon,” Sansa tells him gently, his hand still warm in hers but now his fingers grip her own gently, “You just have to try and be the one to keep the candle lit.”

“I want to wipe it out,” Aegon tells her, “all that darkness…but there is so much sometimes, and I can’t destroy it all.”

“Nope,” Sansa shakes her head, “No you can’t.”

“I’m not what they think I am,” Aegon says quietly, “In the future...they think I’m this hero who united the seven kingdoms. This valiant and noble man who’s genius built an empire. I’m just a man though Sansa, I don’t know how I could ever live up to what they sing about me. It wasn’t easy what I did, I sacrificed a great deal to get it, and I lost people I cared about along the way.”

“I know,” Sansa smiles softly, “I know…and I don’t expect you to be a valiant King from a song. You’re a man…your human, just like everyone else. You make mistakes, just like everyone else.”

“We’ll I’m certainly glad _someone_ sees that,” Aegon says tiredly and then adds after a pause, “I should go to bed.”

“I’ll help you,” Sansa tells him as he stands, letting him lean his weight on her as they walk.

“I’ll never drink this much again I tell you,” he says quietly, “and please…please don’t let Aenys see me like this.”

“I won’t,” Sansa reassures him, “Aenys is in the dining hall and I’m sure Visenya went that way, she’ll keep him busy.”

They walk out into the corridor, Sansa keeping an eye out for Aenys or any of the servants. When she’s certain nobodies around she helps Aegon towards the South wing corridor. It’s by far the biggest in the castle, and inside Sansa spots rows of books along the walls, subtle décor and neutral colors decorating the room. His bed chambers however, when Sansa finally manages to help him there surprises her. She stops abruptly to stare at his bed, and a giggle bursts from her lips before she can stop it.

“What?” he frowns at her and then looks at his bed, then back at her.

His bed was set upon a dais in the center of the room, surrounded by black marble floors and Targaryen sigils, and wide arching mosaic windows depicting battle scenes and flaming dragons. “Well,” Sansa tells him, “That’s quite a lot of fanfare for a bed.”

“It’s ridiculous isn’t it?” he grins a little, “I did not pick the décor. It’s traditional, and for publicities sake when the servants clean my bed chambers they’ll see the sigils. It shows how proud we are of our family.”

“Do you _sleep_ in Targaryen sigil bed clothes as well?” Sansa smirks at him, sarcasm edging her voice. “I could make you some if you felt that it would help promote the family strength.”

“ _Very funny_ ,” he smirks at her, “I think the fanfare of my bed chambers it quite enough, thank you.”

Carefully she helps him up the dais and up onto his bed. Watching him sink into the mattress and get comfortable she smiles at him and then turns to leave. “Wait,” he says softly, “Stay with me for a while. Talk to me.”

Sansa takes a deep breath and turns back, sitting on the edge of the bed on the opposite side, “About what?”

“Anything,” he tells her with a shrug, his eyes on the wide arched ceiling above the bed, “Anything…tell me about your day.”

Debating it, Sansa kicks off her shoes and pulls her legs up onto the bed, pulling her body back against the head board. “I spent most of it in your study with you and Visenya…that part I think you know. I took Blackfyre out for a ride….I spoke with the baker from the village, if you remember he’s the one who made those delightful pastries. I wanted to see if he’d make a cake for Aenys, for his name day. Visenya likes the idea, even though she still won’t admit that she liked the pastries the baker sent up to us.”

Aegon grins, his eyes closed, “She’ll go down fighting on that one.”

“Probably,” Sansa grins, leaning her head back against the head board, her eyes closed as well, “I can’t believe you have this much fanfare in one room. I thought the Lannisters were bad…I swear I couldn’t walk through the Red Keep without hearing the _Tears of Castamere_ at _least_ once an hour.”

“Ridiculous song,” Aegon scoffs.

“Who sings about the destruction of a kingdom, honestly,” Sansa tells him, “It’s immoral.”

“It’s absurd,” he replies.

“Idiotic.”

“A perfectly good waste of a song.”

“Agreed,” Sansa grins down at him.

“Now dragon battles,” Aegon tells her, “ _That’s_ something to sing about.”

“Oh yes,” Sansa muses, “Stories of great dragon kings and conquering heroes.”

“Yes,” Aegon nods, “don’t forget the mighty dragon king.”

“I wouldn’t dream it,” Sansa chuckles as she gazes down at him, “Mighty dragon king.”

“Yes I am,” Aegon chuckles and shifts, getting comfortable.

Somewhere along the lines as they talk and giggle between each other, Sansa starts to nod off between words. Aegon drifts to sleep beside her, and at one point Sansa in her sleep fogged mind slides down onto the bed and gets comfortable. Once or twice she wakes, tries to get up, and falls right back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, she is reminded of the cost of such laziness. Stirring from sleep she blinks up at the wide arched stone ceiling, the glittering mosaic windows with morning sunlight shimmering through them, and at the silver haired man sleeping beside her. She realizes she’s sleeping on his arm and sits up, though he doesn’t stir when she moves. Quickly as her sleep fogged mind clears, panic sets in. What if one of the servants saw her? What if they saw her leaving his bed chambers? On her feet in a moment she’s pulled her shoes back on and dashes out of his bed chambers, being certain that nobody is around to see her before she does.

Edging carefully around every corridor and every corner, she walks right up to the Northern wing doors and steps inside. Shutting the door behind her she breathes a sigh of relief and leans her head against the closed doors.

“ _Good morning_ ,” Visenya’s voice, far too cheerful from somewhere behind her.

“Visenya,” Sansa whirls around, “good morning…I was just…”

“Let’s just skip to the point shall we?” Visenya smiles at her far too brightly, “Why were you in my brother’s bed chambers?”

 _How does she know_ everything _?_

“Visenya I…” Sansa stammers, trying to think of something to say.

“Sansa I have eyes everywhere, nothing goes on in the seven kingdoms without my knowing about it, and that includes my own home. So answer me, why were you in my brothers bed chambers?”

“I didn’t mean too,” Sansa says quickly, “We weren’t doing anything; we were just talking and I just sort of…” Sansa trails off sheepishly as she looks at Visenya, “Fell asleep.”

“Oh I know you weren’t doing _that_ ,” Visenya smiles at her knowingly, “my brother is the most pious man in the seven kingdoms when it comes to _that_ , he won’t have any woman in his bed who isn’t his wife, and I’m his wife so I would know.” Visenya tilts her head as she regards Sansa, “Not that we’ve shared a bed in years however.”

“Nobody saw me,” Sansa tells her pointedly, “I made sure of it.”

Visenya nods, “I know they didn’t. If they had, it would spread like wildfire around the seven kingdoms that you’re fucking my brother,” Visenya smiles thinly, “but you and I both know you’re not doing _that_.”

Sansa blushes brightly at the term Visenya uses but says nothing, letting her continue her rant.

“ _In fact_ I know for certain you weren’t,” Visenya continues with a knowing smile, “When I came to check on my brother last night I found you asleep beside him, looking perfectly comfortable while drooling on his arm. I had the decency not to wake you, you’re welcome.”

With that said Visenya leaves and Sansa stares gaping at her retreating back.

Well… _crap_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just so everybody knows, because it may not be entirely clear from the writing, Aegon doesn't actually know what the Rains of Castamere are, he's just playing along. That being said, I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter!


	90. Chapter 90

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

The day they leave for Dorne, they wait till nightfall. It was easier to slip out unnoticed if everyone is asleep while you’re doing it.  Sansa and Visenya both pack for the trip and leave their bags hidden in saddle bags that were kept on a pair of horses which were ready and waiting for them in the stables. They couldn’t even risk having the stable hand help ready them, so Visenya went out and did it herself while Sansa sorted the dyes to color their hair. Aegon on the other hand, keeps his distance. Sansa understands why of course, keeping himself locked up in his study.

“He’s ashamed,” Visenya comments when she notes Sansa’s gaze turning towards the doors to the Northern wing, her mind on Aegon’s study which lay beyond them.

“I know,” Sansa says quietly, “He’s been holding himself up in there since…”

“Since you made yourself at home in his bed?” Visenya supplies for her, smiling thinly.

“ _Nothing happened_ Visenya,” Sansa rolls her eyes, “Honestly.”

“I know that,” Visenya tells her, “and besides, he’s not hiding in there because of that anyways. He’s hiding in there because he drank an absurd amount of wine and behaved like an ass towards both of us.”

Sighing, Sansa sets the dyes aside, “We should wait to do this. Keep our heads down until we get on the boat and then we color our hair.”

“Not safe,” Visenya shakes her head, “We’ll do it out on the road, before we get to the boats. That way they won’t even know it’s us when we board. Granted, the captain will know but he’s been friends with the family for years and years. He’ll keep his mouth shut.”

Once they’d settled what they planned to do all they had to do now was wait out the daylight.  The only other person Sansa’s sees is Aenys, and he convinces her to go with him down to the beach so he can go swimming. Eventually Sansa joins him, swimming around in the cool water under the warmth of the noonday sun. Afterwards, they go back up to the keep and Sansa marvels in a hot bath for what she was certain to be the last for a long while.

When the sun sets beyond the mountains and darkness sweeps across the land, the evening goes by as usual. Sansa dines with Visenya and Aenys, Aegon absent from the table yet again.  After dinner Sansa sits with Aenys and reads to him from her favorite book of poems and then bids him goodnight before returning to the Northern wing. Once inside, Visenya’s already waiting for her dressed in brown sack cloth. Sansa quickly changes, pulling on beige colored sack cloth and pulling a beige cloth scarf over her head. The two gather there things and make their way out to the stables, leading the horses out towards the gates.

“Wait up,” Visenya tells her, “I’ll be right back.” Her gaze is towards the wide double doors of the keep, and on the silver haired man standing there. Sansa smiles reassuringly at Aegon as Visenya walks over to him, speaking with him in soft tones.

“Be careful will you?” Aegon tells Visenya softly, “I can’t lose you too.”

Visenya smiles up at him, “You won’t,” she reassures him gently, “and I’ll keep an eye on her as well while I’m at it,” Visenya grins at him teasingly, “I know you’d be displeased if anything happened to her.”

Aegon quirks an eyebrow at his sister, “I would,” he watches her curiously, “she’s a good friend.”

“Oh,” Visenya smiles at him knowingly, “I know you better than you think I do brother.”

“She’s my _friend_ Visenya don’t be silly,” Aegon tells her pointedly, “I hardly know her.”

Visenya grins at him, gently poking him in the arm, “but I think you’d like to know her better.”

Aegon turns his gaze towards Sansa and then back to Visenya, “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“Oh come off it,” Visenya says as they embrace, “You like her.”

“Be careful,” Aegon reiterates pointedly, refusing to acknowledge Visenya’s words. Visenya just smiles and waves, walking down towards the horses. When she reaches Sansa, she takes the reins of her own horse from Sansa and climbs on.

Mounting her own horse, Sansa turns her horse towards the open gates and follows Visenya out with a wave in Aegon’s direction before she does so.

“What was that all about?” Sansa asks curiously, “He’s still worried isn’t he?”

“Always,” Visenya smiles wanly at her as they make their way down the dark dirt road that leads down the mountain towards the village below, “We were actually just talking about your hair.”

Her _hair_? Why would Aegon be asking about her hair?

Frowning curiously and a little bewildered Sansa follows after Visenya, silently wondering why Aegon asked about her hair. She didn’t dare ask Visenya what she meant, that would mean she’d have to play Visenya’s game. So instead she rides along silently behind her, determined not to let her own curiosity drive her crazy.

 

* * *

 

On the boat to Braavos, Sansa and Visenya sit below deck quietly sorting out the business of coloring their hair. They’d decided to do it on the boat after all, as they found no safe place to do it without being seen. As most of the crew was asleep anyways, only the captain would know the truth and _he_ knew that Aegon would roast him alive by dragon fire if he betrayed them. Visenya as cranky as ever, sits patiently while Sansa runs the blue through her hair. “It’ll wash out Visenya,” Sansa reassures her gently, “Five or six washes…it’ll be gone and your hair will be just the same as before.”

“It had better,” Visenya tells her sourly, “Or I’ll be coloring _your_ hair blue.”

Sansa’s red tresses had already been done, and now they swung in dark brown waves down her back under the cloth shawl over her head. The sun in Dorne was hot this time of year and the sun would fade the color in their hair quickly so they had to keep themselves covered up.

When Visenya’s hair was finished it shone like deep sapphire and made her pale skin look porcelain and her purple eyes look bright blue. “Very nice,” Sansa tells her softly, “It’s a very pretty color on you.”

Visenya frowns, touching the blue wave tresses of her hair with a hint of sorrow, “I really do hope it washes out.”

“It will,” Sansa reassures her gently.

“Aegon must never see me like this,” Visenya tells her pointedly, “He’d never let me live it down.”

“We will wash it out before he sees you again,” Sansa confirms with a nod.

“Good,” Visenya nods thoughtfully. Turning she climbs up onto the bunk she is assigned and closes her eyes, “Now I’m exhausted, be quiet so I can get some sleep. You should probably do the same.”

Exhausted as well, Sansa crawls onto the hard wooden bunk lined with hay and linen cloth and closes her eyes. It would be a long while before she slept on a feather bed again or had a hot bath. When she dreams, she dreams of her Mother.

_Caitlyn Stark is alive and safe once more, and she and Sansa sit beneath the weirwood tree, watching smoke billow from the furnace over the great hall. It was an average day, a happy day._

_“Mother is this real?” Sansa asks softly, curiously._

_“As real as you believe it to be,” Caitlyn tells her daughter, “I thought you might need me.”_

_“I’m alright,” Sansa tells her softly, “life hasn’t been easy, but I’m surviving.”_

_“Life is never as easy as we wish it to be Sansa,” Caitlyn tells her gently, “I have watched over you and your siblings for as long as I am able. You have loved and lost and loved so many times over Sansa, and I want you to know that I’m proud of you. I know you’ve suffered, but you must keep going.”_

_“I will Mother,” Sansa tells her honestly, “I’m not afraid.”_

_“I know you aren’t,” Caitlyn smiles at her, leaning over to kiss her daughter’s forehead; “you’re as brave as Arya.”_

“Wake _up_ ,” Visenya’s voice as someone prods her in the arm rudely, “Get up already…we’re in Braavos.”

Groggily Sansa rolls over to look at her, exhaustion still deep in her bones, “I’m getting up…relax.”

“We slept in,” Visenya sighs in frustration, “it’s well past noon.”

“Damn,” Sansa curses, rolling out of bed and grabbing her things. If they didn’t make the ship to Planky Town they’d be walking to Dorne.

“The ship for Planky Town leaves in an hour,” Visenya tells her as the two grabs all there things and head up to the deck. They were just outside of Braavos, sailing along the rolling sea green waves between the towering stone statues that guard the walls surrounding Braavos. Sansa looks up at them in awe, the sea breeze in her hair. She inhales deeply, the fresh air waking her up and clearing her thoughts.  Sansa walks to the bow of the boat and stands there, watching as they sail into the harbor. She’s never actually been to Braavos, but Arya has. When she sailed for Dorne with Oberyn for the first time they passed by but did not dock.

When they weigh anchor in the harbor and tie off to the dock Sansa and Visenya slip off the ship unnoticed and disappear into the crowd. The twist and turn through the crowd, Visenya glancing back occasionally to ensure that Sansa was still behind her.

“Keep up,” Visenya tells her quietly, “We need to stay near the harbor. We have some time before they leave; I want to pick up some supplies first.”

The reach the shoreline market and walk among the plethora of different vendors. Some sold sand silks by the bundle, some sold fresh clams, some sold vegetables, some sold fish, and others sold leather. Visenya pauses at one vendor, a man carving wooden figurines. Sansa steps up beside her as she pays and spies her stuffing a wooden soldier into her bag.

“It’s for Maegor,” she says without Sansa having to ask.

Sansa nods, “He’ll like that I think.”

Visenya nods, “I always used to bring him things every time I went on a trip.” She turns to look at Sansa, adjusting the strap of her satchel on her shoulder, “Let’s get moving, I’m not overly fond of the idea of walking to Dorne.”

 

* * *

 

The ship to Planky Town smells of fish, empty woven nets still dripping sea water from the sides of the ship where they are bundled up and tied off. Sansa and Visenya stay below deck in the cargo hold, where wooden crates carrying everything from fruit to silks was being kept. Beneath the deck they masquerade as crew members, well at least Sansa does.

“I can’t believe you,” Sansa scowls at Visenya who sits perched atop one of the crates watching Sansa mop the floor.

“Well the deal was that we’d help around the ship, blend in,” Visenya shrugs.

“They keyword being _we_ ,” Sansa glowers at Visenya, “Get off your lazy bum and help me.”

Visenya smiles wanly, “I’d ruin my hands doing work like that. I’m the Queen you know,” she sniffs a little, “It stinks of shit down here. I really should mention to my brother the deplorable standards of the trading ships these days; we really need to do something about it.”

“They’re risking their lives and their wellbeing to help us,” Sansa tells her flatly, “Be a little considerate.”

Visenya quirks an eyebrow at her, “I am the Queen, it’s my job to make sure the wellbeing of my people is intact. If I find that the people who transport goods from my kingdom to another are bit under the standards, I need to do something about it. We’ll lose business and that isn’t good for the economy.”

Sansa sighs and looks at Visenya, “I understand your good intentions Visenya I really do. You mean well, you want to protect the realm even though it means stabbing the people who are helping you in the back to do it. Yet I _think_ it might be wise to keep your mouth shut just this once, considering what they’re doing for us.”

“Fine,” Visenya resolves after a pause, “I’ll just remind them to clean the cargo once in a while. It’s unhygienic as well as bad business.”

“Good,” Sansa tells her, “while you’re at it…” immediately she hands over the mop and bucket to Visenya, “it’s for the good of the realm after all.” Sansa smiles sweetly at her and then walks off, wiping the sweat from her brow. Visenya watches her go and then smirks and rolls her eyes before taking up the task Sansa had been doing before.

 

* * *

 

On deck the sun was setting in distance and Sansa leans against the rails of the ship to watch. Her eyes on the sea green waters churning beneath the boat, ever slowly getting darker as the light fades, she ponders what fate has in store for them once they reach Dorne. As confident as she was, she feared failure. She told Aegon she could do this, she didn’t want to come back empty handed. This was her one and only chance to put a stop to the violence once and for all, if she returned without completing the quest Aegon would probably never let her try again.

 “Such a beautiful lady,” says a Braavosi man, one whom Sansa is certain is the captain of the ship she is currently on. “His grace is very lucky.” He steps up beside her, leaning on the rail and staring out at the sea as well, “I am called Ouris, and I am captain of this ship.”

“Sansa,” she replies softly.

He nods, “Word of the _Red Targaryen_ spreads far and wide your highness.”

“I would refrain from saying that aloud if I were you,” Sansa warns him gently, “I fear my sister might cut out your tongue.”

He nods, “Full of fire, that one.”

“Yes,” Sansa agrees, “She is rather difficult at times.”

“They say that these waters were once a great trading route for the Valyrians,” Ouris tells her, “many ships have crashed upon the reefs beneath the water, many don’t know how to navigate like I do,” he grins at her a little, “and to this day the ships of those Valyrians who crashed upon them still haunt these waters. They were an odd breed, the Valerians. They do not die as others do, they come back again.”

Frowning, Sansa glances at him. His words remind her of how the Ice people brought people back from the dead with magic, “What do you mean _come back_?”

“Just as I said,” Ouris tells her with a smile, “they come back. The Valerians were always odd, they had secrets and magic and ways that nobody will ever understand. Even though the Doom destroyed them all, many people the Valerians are still alive and living among the fires on that cursed and barren land.”

Sansa nods, “I’ve heard the stories. People disappear and never return.”

“That’s because the creatures that destroyed the Valyrians live there and kill any who cross onto their land,” Ouris tells her, “ _Firewalkers_.”

“But you just said…” Frowning, she notes the half empty wine skin hanging on his belt and wonders quietly if he’s just had too much to drink…

“What are firewalkers?” Sansa asks, changing tactics.

“Creatures of living flame,” Ouris tells her with mirthful glittering eyes, “Masters of fire, they wield it and control it as they want.”

_That would explain the Doom…._

Contemplative Sansa shakes off the idea. How would that explain the Ice people? She was certain they had something to do with the Doom of Valyria. The destruction of their people was far too similar to the threat to Westeros to be a coincidence.

“But it’s just a legend anyways,” Ouris laughs and sips from his wine skin, “Don’t let it frighten you.”

When he leaves Sansa is left with a chill creeping up her spine as she stares down into the dark churning waters. Heading below deck she finds Visenya already asleep on the single tiny bunk bed allotted to the two of them. Tired and uncaring, she climbs in beside Visenya and promptly falls asleep despite the unease settling in the pit of her stomach.

 

* * *

 

_“Higher!” She laughs, her arms outstretched as the dragon soars higher and higher, her brothers arms around her waist as he holds her in place. Sansa knew he was her brother, but when she looked upon his face she did not know him. Yet she did in this dream, and she loved him dearly._

_“Easy little sister,” he cautions her gently, “Velya is old, I don’t want to push her too hard.”_

_“But dragons love to fly,” the young girl who was Sansa but wasn’t replies to her older brother, “I love to fly too!”_

_Her brother couldn’t have been more than fourteen and she not more than twelve. Yet they were fearless in flight, soaring over smoking mountain tops and rolling hills and valleys glittering with heat and light. “Aelarr….it’s the most amazing thing ever.”_

_“I know,” he grins in bemusement at his little sister, “one day when I inherit, Velya will be my dragon and you’ll be my wife. We’ll go flying all the time, and when Velya’s eggs hatch you’ll have a dragon of your own too.”_

_Smiling, the girl who wasn’t Sansa but was leans back against her elder brother happily. Enjoying the wind in her hair and on her face she asks, “We’ll always be together, won’t we Aelarr?”_

_“Always Daeyra…always,” he reassures her, kissing the top of his little sister’s head._

“ _Bloody hell_!” Someone is shouting near her ear.

Blurrily she opens her eyes and sees Visenya, glowering at her angrily. “You hit me in the face with your arm. _Sweet Mother_ are you always that clumsy? My brother was lucky he was drunk enough not to notice your flailing when you sleep.”

“I don’t flail,” Sansa growls at her groggily, irritated at being awoken. Then again Visenya probably didn’t appreciate being hit in the face in the middle of a dead sleep either…

“And who’s _Aelarr_?” Visenya frowns at her, “You kept saying that name in your sleep.”

“I don’t know,” Sansa frowns as she stares up at the ceiling of the bunk bed, “It was just….” Frowning, the dream was fading from her mind as quickly as it had come. What had she been dreaming about again? Dragons? Flying? Sitting up she rubs the sleep from her eyes and glances to her right where Visenya is still lying back, one arm tucked behind her head watching her.

“What time is it?” Sansa asks her wearily.

“Just before dawn,” Visenya replies, “We’ll be sailing into the Harbor in Planky Town in probably an hour or so.”

Yawning Sansa rolls out of bed with Visenya in tow, and the two of them get ready for the day. Planky Town wasn’t that far from Sunspear, but it was still quite a walk. Visenya was determined to get them horses; she had no desire to walk to Sunspear either. Sansa thought it would be better to walk because it would be a bit more conspicuous, a lot of common folk can’t afford horses out right.

“I think we should get a ride with one of the trading caravans,” Sansa suggests to her as they pull into the Harbor in Planky Town.

“I would rather be able to go at my own speed and not someone else’s,” Visenya frowns at her, “You really don’t like riding horses do you?”

“No,” Sansa admits sheepishly, “ _but_ it would be more conspicuous to travel with a caravan.”

In the end Sansa won the argument and begrudgingly Visenya yielded to her idea. It was cheaper anyways in the long run, and they’d not have to sell the horses or put them up somewhere to be taken care of when they reached the Shadow City.

Irritably, Visenya climbs in after Sansa into a covered wooden wagon and the two sit with their feet dangling over the edge of the back of the wagon as it bumps along over the sand, swaying as it goes towards the Shadow City. It was sweltering hot in the desert; Sansa had never felt a heat like it. When she lived in Dorne it hadn’t been at its height in the heat, but now it was and Sansa finally understood what Ellaria was talking about when she mentioned the heat of Dorne in true summer or spring.

If this was the heat of Dorne in the spring she’d hate to see it in the summer…

“You have to keep hydrated,” Sansa cautions Visenya who was listing to the side, her eye lids drooping heavily as she leans against the wooden wall of the wagon, “You’ll pass out.” Carefully she pulls a leather skin from her satchel filled with water and helps Visenya drink from it, sighing softly. “I told you we should take more water.”

“I took more water,” Visenya scowls at her wearily, clearly without the energy to put any real emotion into it, “I drank most of it already.”

Sansa nods, “When I came to Dorne for the first time I spent most of my days indoors because I couldn’t handle the heat. I think I passed out once too now that I think about it.” Smiling Sansa adds as she watches Visenya doze, “aren’t you glad we didn’t take horses?”

“Oh shut up,” Visenya mutters tiredly and falls silent after that.

The roll along for a while until the wagon suddenly halts and Sansa can hear shouting. Peering through the canvas draped over the wagon she can see between cracks of the wood men running over the sand dunes wielding swords.

“Visenya _wake up_ ,” Sansa says sharply, quietly.

“What is it?” Visenya grumbles but she sits up, suddenly alert all the same.

“Thieves,” Sansa grimaces, “ _Angry_ thieves.”

Little time did they have before the canvas is ripped off and they’re dragged out of the wagon and thrown to the ground. Robbed of all their things, the men tie them up and set them aside with the driver and all of his companions. From a distance Visenya scowls at them, and Sansa lets out a little sigh of worry.

“Dark Sister is in that satchel,” Visenya nods towards the brown leather bag on the ground near the wagon, “if they see that we’re finished.”

“These people are common folk,” Sansa tells her quietly, “Land pirates…they stalk the trading routes and attack the caravans from time to time. They won’t recognize your sword, it would take someone highborn to know that.”

“ _Land pirates_?” Visenya says incredulously, “I believe the term you’re searching for is _bandit_.”

“Bandits are thieves,” Sansa tells her, “These men are trading smugglers. They rob certain caravans carrying cargo destined for a specific vendor. It’s how people get ahead of the competition. They hire these kinds of men to go and rob their competition.”

“I do believe there one and the same,” Visenya tells her flatly, “I’ve nearly got my ropes loose, when I get yours undone we’re going to run.”

“Run?” Sansa quirks an eyebrow.

“We’ll,” Visenya smiles thinly, “I’m going to get my sword back and you’re going to run.”

“How did you even…” Sansa doesn’t even have time to question how exactly Visenya got her ropes off. The next thing she knows is that her hands are free and she’s scrambling to her feet and running across the sand in the opposite direction while Visenya charges them head on, a silver dagger flashing in the sunlight. Sansa stops atop a hill to watch, and gasps at the sight.

 Visenya had a young boy, probably no older then fifteen pressed with his back against her chest and an arm around his throat. The dagger in her other hand glints in the sunlight from where it’s pressed to his throat, “Give me the bags.” She hisses dangerously at them, “Give me the bags and I won’t cut the boy’s throat.”

“ _No_ ,” Sansa says, scrambling and stumbling down the sandy hill towards the scene. “Visenya _don’t_!”

“ _Stay back_!” Visenya snarls at Sansa without looking at her.

“Visenya he’s just a boy,” Sansa says tentatively and then looks at the group of thieves. It was clear the boy was important to them; he might even be there little brother…

“Then we have something of value to trade it seems,” Visenya smiles darkly at the smugglers, “Give me our things, I give you back your friend.”

Palms outstretched, Sansa walks towards the wagon slowly, keeping her eye on the men, “Please,” she tells them, “do as she says. I don’t want the boy hurt and neither do you.”

Tentatively one of them kicks both their bags over and Sansa grabs them both, swinging them over one shoulder and quickly backing away. Visenya then shoves the boy away from her and into the group of men near the wagon. “RUN!” she yells at Sansa, the two of them darting across the sand together in the opposite direction. Visenya grabs her own bag from Sansa as they go, swinging it over her shoulder. They don’t stop running until they’ve made it over the sandy hills and across barren land for at least five minutes.

“I _told_ you we should have taken horses,” Visenya snarls angrily at Sansa, “If we’d taken horses we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“And if we’d have taken horses you’d have fallen off your horse from heat exhaustion,” Sansa growls back, “I was doing the smart thing. I knew there was a risk of smugglers but it doesn’t happen all that often, heat exhaustion in the middle of a Dornish spring however, _does_.”

“Hurry up,” Visenya snaps, yanking her by the elbow as they stumble across the landscape, “They’ll catch up quickly enough.”

“They aren’t coming Visenya,” Sansa snaps back, yanking her arm out of the other woman’s reach, “They’re trade smugglers, they don’t care about us. All they want is the gold and supplies the caravan was hauling. They’ll let the driver and his crew go the minute they’ve got everything they wanted.”

“We’ll that’s lovely,” Visenya replies nastily, “but if you’ve noticed…we’re now on foot in the middle of the Dornish desert and I haven’t a bloody _clue_ where we are!”

“I do,” Sansa replies evenly, straining not to start shouting back at Visenya, “If you’d be a bit more observant Visenya you’d notice the walls of Sunspear just over there.” Sansa replies, pointing to the south.

In the distance Visenya could just barely make out the sandstone walls, and she sighs heavily, wiping the sweat from her brow, “That’s still a ways to walk in the heat without water.”

“Then we need to stay near the coastline,” Sansa tells her, “We’ll go a ways like this around the smugglers and then we’ll head down to the beach and walk the rest of the way to Sunspear by the water.”

“Fine,” Visenya scowls at her and stalks off, Sansa following in tow behind her.

Just as Sansa said, they made it to the coastline without incident save for one rather scary moment with a poisonous snake that nearly sank its teeth into Visenya’s ankle if Sansa hadn’t pulled her aside and then kicked the snake away with the tip of Dark Sister.

Wearily and exhausted they trudge their way through the sand all the way up to the gates of the Shadow City.

 

* * *

 

Inside the city people crowd the streets, Sansa feels right at home. It felt good to be home at last, even if it was blisteringly hot outside. In the distance the late afternoon sun was dwindling down into evening and the two of them find a room on the edge of the city where they could sleep and prepare. Sansa had no intention to sleep however; she meant to go up to the palace _tonight_.

“So are you going tonight or tomorrow?” Visenya asks as she polishes the blade of Dark Sister. She’s sitting on a linen mattress stuffed with sheep fur by an open square window with no glass but a poorly strung up drape to keep out the evening breeze and give the current occupant some privacy. They were high up, second story at least and when Sansa looked out the window she could just barely make out the tops of the high walls surrounding the palace in the distance.

“Tonight,” Sansa says softly and then frowns, “Wait…”

“I knew you’d need to go alone,” Visenya sighs as she looks at her, “I agree with you. Yet if I didn’t immediately side with Aegon he’d suspect something. So I let him believe I was going to go into the palace with you.”

It felt so wrong going in there without Visenya, Aegon was so worried about them going and here she was, putting herself in danger because she was going to go without Visenya. “I think maybe…” Sansa says softly, guilt eating her alive, “I think you ought to go with me after all.”

“Oh?” Visenya quirks an eyebrow and nods thoughtfully, “I could if you want.”

“I do,” Sansa nods firmly, “I think you should.”

If she went in there without Visenya and got hurt or even killed, Aegon would never forgive Visenya. She already felt like she was responsible for Rhaenys’s death, already felt like Aegon blamed her for it and if Sansa got killed it might just estrange them even more from each other. Considering Aegon’s temper and his resentment of Dorne, she feared what he might do if something happened. If she or Visenya were killed trying to do this, Dorne may not survive it either.

“You’re afraid,” Visenya can read the signs all over Sansa’s face.

Nodding, Sansa sighs, “I am….I’m terrified of failing. I’m scared something will happen to one or both of us. I’m afraid of Aegon’s temper when someone he cares about gets hurt. If something happens to you….he’ll burn Dorne to the ground and they’ll be nothing left but ashes by the time he’s done. I think you know that too.”

“I do,” Visenya agrees quietly, “Not that he hasn’t tried to burn them all to ashes already. Dorne’s awfully resilient however.”

“Then let’s get this over with,” Sansa sighs, “The sooner we’re done the sooner I can stop panicking about it.”

“ _Relax_ ,” Visenya smiles wanly at her as she holds up Dark Sister, “If anyone tries to hurt either of us I’ll kill them, plain and simple.”

“Speaking of which,” Sansa tells Visenya, “You can’t just grab people and threaten to kill them like that.”

“Our lives were at stake Sansa,” Visenya tells her pointedly, “Those idiots might not have recognized Dark Sister but what if they brought it back to someone who does? What if that someone then tells one of the Martells? Then what? I’ll tell you what happens,” Visenya tells her firmly, “Then the Martells know were here…then they search the city. Then they find us and they _kill us_.”

Sighing Sansa nods, “I know…I just….”

“You can’t handle the violence I know,” Visenya rolls her eyes, “you’re such a delicate little flower aren’t you?”

“Hardly,” Sansa scoffs, “Try surviving in the court of Joffrey Baratheon.”

“Who?” Visenya frowns at her.

“Nobody,” Sansa waves her off, “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Visenya nods, swinging Dark Sister over her back and strapping the leather straps across her chest. Over it she swings a linen cloak and pulls up the hood, “Let’s do this.”


	91. Chapter 91

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

Walking along the length of the outer wall of Sunspear brought back memories for Sansa. Sharp and vivid, warm days where Oberyn would show her every secret passage and every hidden tunnel into the palace. He taught her what to do if they were under siege, if the palace walls were breached…even what to do if she’s captured. He’d given a vial of poison similar to the one Tyene had given her, it was only to be used if she had no other choice. It would kill her instantly and painlessly, it would feel like falling asleep. She had no such vial of poison now however, all she had was the one Tyene had hidden in the dagger she’d given Sansa.

“Where is this tunnel?” Visenya asks quietly.

“Not far,” Sansa tells her, sliding her hands idly along the sandstone walls. “It’s a grating near the ground; we lift it and climb down the ladder. Follow the tunnel under the walls and into the courtyard. It’s well hidden so I doubt it’ll be guarded.”

“Watch it!” Visenya warns suddenly, yanking Sansa backwards into her. A boy no more than eight or nine comes barreling down the street and darts past them, followed by an angry looking older man yelling obscenities at him.

Not going to happen…

Sansa’s eyes narrowed, recognizing the warning signs of violence. She was just a little older than that boy when she’d been beaten and bruised by men of the Kingsguard. It was against Dornish law to beat children anyways; Sansa thinks as she sticks one ankle out and sends the man sprawling to the ground as his foot catches. Glancing up at the boy who stops only to witness the man’s fall she feels her heart skip a beat. The boys eyes….his _eyes_ …

“Stupid bitch,” the man snarls at Sansa and clambers to his feet. When he turns, the boy is already gone.  “That little urchin stole my gold.”

“It’s against Dornish law to beat children,” Sansa narrows her eyes at him, “I will report you.”

Recognizing the threat them and relents, glowering at Sansa, “Mouthy little bitch.”

“Call me a bitch again and find out what happens,” Sansa snarls, unable to keep her temper in check. She isn’t entirely certain where that came from, and even Visenya is caught by surprise at her words. Sansa guesses it might have been the glint of Dark Sister in Visenya’s hand that made the man relent, but nevertheless he turned and left without another word.

“Brave words,” Visenya tells her quietly, “What exactly had you planned to do if he’d attacked you?”

“Hit him with my shoe,” Sansa smiles wanly at her and continues walking down the street.

“What was that back there anyways?” Visenya asks, keeping up alongside her, “You looked like you’d seen a ghost for a second there.”

“I think I did,” Sansa admits quietly. The boy’s eyes were _exactly_ like Oberyn’s.

They keep walking for a ways until they reach metal grating cleverly hidden in the sand. Sansa lifts it with Visenya’s help and the two climb down the ladder hidden beneath it, Visenya bringing up the rear and pulling the grate back down into place overhead as they go.

 

* * *

 

Inside the courtyard, they creep along the shadows behind pillars and tall plants. “I thought you said we’d go through the cellars,” Visenya hisses softly.

“We we’re,” Sansa explains, “but then I had a feeling it might be guarded and chose this way instead.”

It was odd, sneaking through Sunspear. It’s been so long since she was here, and if it weren’t for the fact that she was trying to break into her own home and sneak past her own family, it might have been nice to see it again.

“Do you even know what you’re going to _say_ to Meria Martell?” Visenya asks as they pause behind a pillar, noting the torchlight flickering in the distance.

“ _Please stop trying to kill my brother, I promise they won’t try to burn any more of your people_?” Sansa tells her with a hint of sarcasm in her voice, “I don’t _know_ …I’m still working on it.”

“What do you _mean_ you’re _still working on it_?” Visenya hisses irritably, frowning at her, “I thought you had it all planned out!”

“I _do_ ,” Sansa reassures her quietly, “now shut it…I think someone’s coming.”

Both falling silent they listen intently until…

“If you value your life, I suggest you don’t move,” a heavily accent voice says quietly from the darkness. Visenya stiffens beside her, and Sansa can tell something is very wrong. Glancing to her right, she sees the tip of a spear pressed to Visenya’s throat. “Step out of the shadows…let’s have a look at you.”

Cautiously both women step from the shadows, palms out raised. Men seem to materialize from the shadows themselves and strip them of their things, including Dark Sister.

“Thieves,” one suggests thoughtfully, “probably caught wind of what’s happened and thought they could walk right in and take what they want.”

“Impossible,” another says, “How could they know? Nobody outside of us knows what’s happened.”

Curiously one lifts Dark Sister to the light of his torch, “Valyrian steel,” he muses allowed, “and curiously familiar. I wonder where they got such a blade…”

“ _Wait_ ,” one says in awe, “I know that blade!”

“That one must be the Dragon King’s bitch sister,” another says darkly, “one of the brother fuckers. Throw her in the dungeon.”

“Wait,” Sansa says quickly, “Please listen…please….I need to speak with Martells….We’re here in peace I swear to you…we mean you no harm. We’ve only come to put a stop to the violence between us.”

One yanks back Sansa’s hood and grabs her hair, pulling it free from under the shawl and cloak. “Her hair’s the color of mud,” he scowls, “Not Red like the stories…I thought it might have been her but…”

“I am her,” Sansa tells him quickly, “Please…let me explain…”

“You were sneaking into Sunspear in the middle of the night _armed_ ,” another says pointedly, “Tell me how that is _peaceful_?”

“Well,” Sansa tells them as Visenya looks at Sansa pointedly as if saying _Yes…tell me how that’s peaceful exactly. “_ These days it isn’t safe for a woman to travel these roads without a weapon, I think you know that as well as I do. I came here with no dragon, no army. I am here alone with my sister to speak only of peace with the Princess.”

“Kill the bitch,” one snarls, “We kill them and send their heads back to the Dragon King.”

Many agree, many scowl and cheer and snarl at the two women. Visenya presses closer to Sansa, both of them starting to get a little nervous now. Until suddenly another voice echoes above them, a younger voice…it was the same boy Sansa had seen earlier. He steps through the crowd, pushing their spears aside, “ _Wait_!” he tells them, “I said _wait_!”

“It’s you,” Sansa blinks at the little boy.

“You were the one who saved me earlier,” he tells her, “Thank you.”

“Are you a Martell?” Sansa looks down at him, he was the spitting image of Oberyn as a boy.

“No,” the boy says, “but this is my home.”

“I don’t follow…” Sansa frowns at him.

“You will soon enough,” he replies and looks at the others, “Show her.”

“No…” One says quickly, “If the Dragon King finds out…”

“Show her,” the boy says firmly and turns, walking back into the palace.

“Show us _what_?” Sansa says aloud, frowning.

 

* * *

 

It was akin to having a bucket of ice water dumped over your head. Sansa sits on the sandstone floor and stares…and stares…

“Sansa…” Visenya says worriedly, “Sansa say something.”

Across from them lined in a row were five stone tombs. All five of the Martells, Meria, her brother and all her children. The Martells were dead.

All of them.

Sansa couldn’t wrap her mind around it, and if the Martells were dead that meant Oberyn was dead…or never existed at all. Turning her gaze up to Visenya she shakes her head, “I don’t have anything to say.”

There was nothing to say, there was nothing she could do to save Oberyn. Not when the Martells were dead, she couldn’t bring them back. If they were all dead that means Oberyn is never born, that means she’s never saved from Kings Landing…

So how is she still here?

Frowning she gets to her feet and looks at the boy looming behind them in the doorway, “Who are you?”

“My name is Gyan,” he tells her softly, blinking at Sansa as she gasps in shock, “The man buried there is my Father.” He points towards the stone tomb beside Meria’s.

None of this was in the history books, it was never recorded that the Martells were all killed during the Dragon’s wroth, but apparently they were. Quietly the wheels start spinning in Sansa’s head. The boy looks just like Oberyn, so that means this boy must be his _grandfather_. To top it all off, this boy was the same one from her _dream_. 

Looking at Visenya she sighs, “That boy…” Sansa says quietly so Gyan couldn’t hear them, “that boy is Oberyn’s Grandfather.”

“Did you know this would happen?” Visenya frowns at her, “did you know they were dead?”

“No,” Sansa shakes her head, “This isn’t in the history books.”

“What are we going to do?” Visenya frowns, and for the first time Sansa can see that she’s worried…nervous… _scared_. Aegon had done something that he cannot undo now; his wroth has destroyed an entire bloodline. Sansa didn’t want him to know about this, she knew the guilt of it would eat him alive. “Aegon can’t know about this Sansa,” Visenya says quietly with her gaze on the stone tombs before her, “He can’t ever find out.”

“I know,” Sansa says softly, “but we’ll have to tell him eventually.” Finally Sansa turns to look at the boy, “How long have you been alone here?”

“Months,” the boy answers, “The banners came and found me where I lived in one of the sighing houses with my Mother.”

“Months,” Visenya echoes aloud, “Bloody hell.”

Sansa sighs and gets to her feet, leaving the Martell crypt. Visenya and the boy follow her up into the throne room, where Sansa sits on the dais and stares at the floor.

She has one idea, one mad and completely impossible idea. There was only one way to save Oberyn now, and his fate rested in the hands of his grandfather. Dorne itself was in jeopardy right now without the Martells to protect it, and nobody outside the city walls knew the Martells were dead…

“I want to take over as Princess Regent of Dorne,” Sansa tells Visenya quietly after a while, “If I do that, Aegon and legalize Gyan and make him the Martell heir.”

Visenya nods thoughtfully, “How are you going to convince the banners of that?”

“I’m going to tell them exactly what it is,” Sansa says tiredly, “They have no heir…the Martells are dead and Aegon is the only one who can save them now. He has the power to legalize Gyan, and only _he_ can do it. If Dorne yields…I’ll take over as Regent until Gyan comes of age.”

“They’ll never agree to it,” Visenya tells her softly.

“I am the heir,” Sansa tells her flatly, “I am the _only_ living Martell left.”

“In your time,” Visenya tells her pointedly, “Not here.”

“You are a Martell?” Gyan tilts his gaze to look at her, “They told me you were the Dragon King’s sister.”

“I am,” Sansa agrees with a nod, “but I’m also a Martell. It’s a very long story though…and it doesn’t make any sense. I want to ask you though…would you agree to that? The banners won’t yield to the idea unless you agree to it.”

Gyan watches her thoughtfully for a moment, “and you would be my Mother?”

“I would,” Sansa smiles softly at him, “If that’s what you want.”

Gyan looks at Visenya for a moment and then at Sansa, “No dragons.”

“No dragons,” Sansa smiles and shakes her head, “I will never allow a dragon to cross onto our land again without permission.”

“No more fighting,” Gyan persists, “No more burning…no more war.”

“You’ve got quite a list there haven’t you?” Visenya idly comments in the background.

Sansa shoots her a look before turning her gaze back to Gyan, “Agreed.”

Gyan smiles up at her and nods, “I will consent to it then.”

Nodding Sansa smiles at him, “Then let’s call the banners.”

“They’re already here,” Gyan tells her, “Or what’s left of them. They all came here to protect me.”

Nodding Sansa rubs her face tiredly, “Then we need to discuss terms of negotiation with them tonight. I want it done now. We’ll make the announcement to the rest of Dorne tomorrow. Visenya I want you to write to Aegon and tell him what’s happened. Tell him he cannot cross onto Dornish soil with a dragon unless given permission otherwise. That is my first decree as Princess and my first term of negotiation between our two kingdoms.”

Visenya quirks an eyebrow, “Now you’re getting bossy, but I’ll do as you ask.” With a sigh, Visenya gets up to find a raven and something to write on.

When she’s gone Sansa smiles at Gyan tentatively, “Don’t worry…she’s not as grumpy as she seems.”

 

 


	92. Chapter 92

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

“Sansa,” Visenya sighs heavily. The morning sun shimmers through the windows of the council room as Visenya tiredly runs a hand through her blue tresses. “We need to get our story straight. You _cannot_ go before all the Martell banners and tell them you’re the rightful heir to the throne because you were married to Gyan’s great, great, great grandson.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Sansa glowers at her irritably. They were both exhausted and tired. Neither had gotten any sleep at all, and they were running on fumes and an alarmingly strong hot black liquid sweetened with cinnamon. In Dorne it was called _Kers_ and it was made from a funny looking plant with purple leaves. Beside the steaming hot mug of liquid sat a plate of something Sansa felt particularly pleased about.

Lemon cakes.

Dorne was famed for its lemons, even now. When the servants brought up a plate of lemon cakes Sansa very nearly robbed Visenya of her share and ran out of the room with them. Visenya and Sansa were bordering on violence at this point, the two of them were exhausted and frustrated and their bickering wasn’t going to make it any easier. Yet the both agreed that they needed to settle this now because the banners were waiting and the meeting would happen that evening.

“We also need to sort out how we’re going to explain this to Dorne,” Visenya says, “and when Aegon gets here…and you _know_ he’ll come only because you told him he _can’t_ , you need to figure out how to explain this.”

“I figure,” Sansa says as she stares at the grains in the wood of the table. Her mind was heavily distracted; she was having difficulty focusing at this point. Once they’d settled things they could both get some sleep before this evening. “We tell him they died from disease. Nobody outside the banners who were guarding Gyan knows what really happened. If they swear to keep their silence, we can pull it off.”

“And how are you going to do that exactly?” Visenya quirks an eyebrow, “If you tell them to keep their mouths shut they’ll tell anyone who will listen. They’ll be rioting in the streets by noon tomorrow. I doubt the banners are going to go along with this.”

“They’ll have too,” Sansa says firmly. It was complete madness to be honest, she knew that. She knew Dorne wasn’t going to take this sitting down, but she was counting on the banners siding with Gyan the most. If they meant to protect Gyan, maybe they’d agree to it. _If_ , and it was a really big _if_ , Sansa could convince them that she wanted only peace, that this was a way to make amends for the damage Aegon had done….maybe they’d listen.

“We will make no demands of them,” Sansa tells Visenya firmly, “No demands at all. We are doing this to make amends…not to gain power or prestige. Not to conquer or control. Aegon is not their King. I will be their ruler, I will enforce dornish law. If Aegon wants to negotiate he will do it through me.”

Frowning, Visenya tilts her head thoughtfully and nods, “I think he’ll agree to it. Granted…you’ll need to accept the fact that eventually,” Visenya smiles wanly at her, “Dorne must join the fold.”

“Eventually,” Sansa tells her pointedly, “but _not_ today.”

 

* * *

 

_“Little sister,” a woman’s voice, sweet and musical._

_Sansa turns and she knows this face, she knows this woman. She was her sister, but she wasn’t. This time Sansa is older, at least sixteen or seventeen now. “Haessa!”_

_“My Daeyra,” Haessa smiles down at her. Sansa takes her hand and they walk together and stand atop a hill overlooking the great black marble and mosaic colored glass city below. “I know your heart aches for Mother.”_

_“How did Mother die?” Sansa asks her. This woman’s face, it was impossible. This woman was the witch, the witch who helped murder Oberyn. Yet how could this witch be here? How was this possible?_

_“She was very sick,” Haessa replies somberly, her gaze on the city below, “Our brothers and sister will protect you now.”_

_“But Father…” Sansa frowns at her sister._

_“Is of no mind to protect anyone, even himself,” Haessa says almost bitterly. There was a darkness glittering in her eyes that unsettled Sansa._

_“Father loved Mother…” Sansa says quietly, sadly._

_“Of course he did,” Haessa’s narrowed gaze stares hard at the city as if speaking the words she utters to Sansa is like acid in her mouth. She speaks them none the less, utters what Sansa thinks might be lies to her little sister to save her from the painful truth of it all. “I will make them all go away Daeyra,” Haessa tells her quietly, “I will make them all pay.”_

_“Truly?” Sansa asks, looking at her elder sister._

_“Truly,” Haessa agrees with a nod, “It will be our secret won’t it?”_

_“Yes,” Sansa nods, “How will you make them go away?”_

_“I will cleanse them with fire,” Haessa smiles knowingly at Sansa, “and I will make the world our home again.”_

_“Sisters,” Aelarr’s voice now as he approaches them from the bottom of the hill._

_“Brother,” Haessa says quietly and releases Sansa’s hand._

_Sansa turns towards Aelarr, easily sliding into his embrace and fitting against his side like they were made that way. Another follows him, another silver haired man identical to Aelarr. Sansa smiles at him, “Vamon.”_

_“Sister,” he smiles and kisses her forehead before looking at Haessa, “What do you see Haessa?”_

_“Fire,” Haessa says allowed, “I see fire and death.”_

_“You_ always _see fire and death,” Aelarr tells her, “What else?”_

_“I tell you brothers,” Haessa says flatly, “I see fire and death. It plagues my dreams now….perhaps we should have listened to the Targaryens.”_

_“They’re cowards,” Vamon scoffs, “Forget them.”_

_“_ Haessa _,” Aelarr says tiredly._

_“I’m telling you what I see,” she snaps irritably, “I see fire and death.”_

_Vamon sighs and looks out over the city before them, “we are kin….we won’t burn.”_

_“Ours is a rare blood,” Haessa agrees, “but we can still burn.”_

_“Our blood is of the dragon,” Aelarr tells her, “We will survive the fire.”_

_“Our blood is watered down,” Haessa tells him, “Muddled by mankind. Our skin is like parchment in the heat. Our family is the oldest, and our bloodline has the most connection but that will not save us.”_

_“You have the most power;” Aelarr tells Haessa, “Can you not save us?”_

_“I cannot,” Haessa says softly with a sigh, “I fear for the worst. I was given such power by chance, made stronger only by my own will and practice. Even I cannot endure the heat as our kin have done before us.”_

_“Where is Naesa?” Vamon frowns, his gaze searching the skies._

_“Our sister remained with Velya,” Haessa says quietly, “She mourns her passing.”_

_“I must find my wife,” Vamon frowns, “I should be with her.”_

_“Go,” Aelarr tells him quietly as his twin turns back down the hill._

Sansa wakes with a start, the sound of voices echoing in the hall. It was near dark now, and Sansa scrambles to get out of bed and pull on her clothes. The banners were here, and were probably preparing in the council room. She took up residence in one of the guest rooms, borrowing a spare gown from one of the closets. It was hell trying to get the servants to get a bath going for her; none of them knew what to do with her and Visenya. Only by order from Gyan and one of the banners that was already aware of the situation did anything get done.

She was unnerved by the funny dreams she’s been having. Those names and faces were all so unfamiliar, and yet the witch was in her dream. The witch looked exactly the same, accept…well…not _frozen_. Which didn’t make any sense considering that whoever she was, she lived in what Sansa was certain was Old Valyria. It was before the doom, wherever they were. Those people meant something to Sansa, meant something to Daeyra. So who was Daeyra? Why was Sansa dreaming about this woman? Was this something the witch did to mess with her mind? Had the witch found her?

Too many questions.

“Hurry up,” Visenya’s voice carries outside from the hall. Sansa yanks the dress up onto her body and straightens her skirts and hair. Quickly she darts out into the hall with Visenya in tow. “They’re here.”

Nodding Sansa takes a deep breath and enters the council room, Visenya in tow wearing a borrowed gown as well. Amusement was burning under her skin when she notes that the blue was still firmly in Visenya’s hair, but no doubt the woman would scrub her hair clean later on.

“My lords,” Sansa says calmly, evenly. It was bizarre, sitting where Doran once sat.  Gyan sits at her side, as all the banners take their seats.  “I want to begin with the understanding that this is by no means any form of hostile takeover. I have no intention of stealing the throne from Prince Gyan; I have no intention of holding it either. I will give it over to him when he comes of age. I understand that you have already been informed of the situation at hand. I want you to know that while I am my brother’s sister, I will only hold the best interest of Dorne in mind. We will not be yielding to him, we will not allow his dragons to cross onto our lands, and we will not be joining under his rule.” Sansa meets Visenya’s gaze pointedly, “Do you understand the terms Queen Visenya?”

“I do,” Visenya tilts her head as she regards Sansa. It was difficult sitting across from her now, knowing that they were at odds, on opposite ends of the board now. Now they were conflicting kingdoms instead of sisters, now they were almost enemies.

“Do you really think any of us will kneel before an inbred brotherfucker like you?” The lord of Kingsgrave tells her darkly. The roughness of his speech puts Sansa on edge but she stands her ground, meeting Visenya’s gaze across the table. Visenya was unsettled but kept her mouth shut…thankfully.

“I’m not asking you kneel before me,” Sansa tells him, “I’m not asking you to accept me as your Princess. I am asking you to stand by your Prince,” Sansa tells him, motioning towards Gyan, “He will rule when he is of age. The Targaryen family will have no control over Dorne or any of its allies. I am merely standing in for Prince Gyan until he is of age.”

“Any one of us can do that,” the Lord of Lemonwood snaps rudely.

“Any one of you can perhaps,” Sansa smiles wanly at him, “but can any one of you legalize him? My brother will only legalize him if I am allowed to sit the throne of Sunspear until his highness is of age.”

“Now you see the terms,” Sansa tells them all, “I will hold the seat of Sunspear until Prince Gyan comes of age. From then on, I turn all control over to Prince Gyan and I will leave. Dorne will remain untied to the six kingdoms of Westeros.”

“And _why_ ,” the Lord of Vaith asks her, “would you do that?”

“Because,” Sansa says softly, gentling her voice as she struggles to convince these men to understand her line of thinking, “I want to make amends for what my brother has done to you all. I can’t blame you for hating me…for hating all of us. People you love have died because of my brother’s wraith. I had no part in it but that doesn’t exempt me from your hatred. I understand that. If I were in your place I would be skeptical as well, but I am not my brother. I have no wraith in my heart or hate to give you all. You murdered my sister, and I understand why it was done.  It hurts me to know I will never know her, but it hurts _you_ to know you will never see your loved ones again. Have we not had enough violence? Have we not hurt each other enough? Let my brother legalize Prince Gyan, make him a Martell officially. It isn’t much in the bigger scheme of things…” Sansa sighs, “I can’t give you back the people you lost or the homes that were destroyed. I _can_ help you put your kingdom back together though, I can help fix some of the damage my brother has brought upon you all.”

The room was all sneers and dark looks. People glared openly at her and Gyan beside her shifts nervously. She touches his shoulder gently, reassuringly. “My lords,” Sansa tells them all after a pause, “I will give you time to dwell on this. I want you to decide for yourselves how you want to handle this situation. Let me warn you however,” Sansa points out to them, she knew where their minds were going before they could even say anything, “If you decide it prudent to harm either I or my sister in any way….Dorne will not survive it. I don’t want to see this place burn because of your vindictiveness. It is understandable to feel that way, but it will not end the feud between us. I ask that you be rational and consider your options, decide what is best for Dorne.”

* * *

 

“That was utter _shit_ ,” Sansa grumbles into her hands, borrowing one of Oberyn's sayings. She and Visenya sit alone in one of the guest rooms while the banners leave for parts unknown. The banners much to their great resentment to Sansa and everything that she represents consented to her idea. Now all she had to do was stay alive long enough for Gyan to come of age.  There would be riots; there would be hired knives and angry common folk. Sansa expected it all, and she was ready for it. She wanted what was best for Dorne, this was her home and she was afraid to leave it in the hands of the banners. What if they tried to usurp Gyan? She would not let this go; if she did she might lose Oberyn all together.

“You did alright,” Visenya says, nibbling tentatively on a piece of fruit, “I would have used pressure points however. Remind them of their children, their families. Make them consider that when deciding whether or not they want to throw us out on our asses.”

“Is that all you know how to do?” Sansa frowns at her, “Manipulate and deceive?”

“I use what I know will push them in the direction I want them to go,” Visenya smiles thinly at her, “These people are tight knit…they are all about family and loyalty. Use their family against them and they’ll bend to our will.”

“You are _absolutely_ devious, you know that don’t you?” Sansa frowns at her and then sighs, lying back on the bed she sits on.

“Oh,” Visenya smiles, “You haven’t seen me devious.” She sips some water before she adds, “I wrote to Aegon and sent it off. I imagine he’s going to want to be here himself at one point. You’re going to have to give him an official invitation if he’s to obey by your demands.”

Sansa nods, “I’ll do it in the morning… _no bloody dragons_.”

“And what?” Visenya quirks an eyebrow, “Make him _sail_ to Dorne? How humiliating would that be if he had to sail here. We are known for our dragons.”

“Then he can land Balarion somewhere safely outside Dornish walls. Far away from people and villages.”

“That might work,” Visenya nods.

“Can you leave now so I can sleep?” Sansa asks her wearily, “I need to sleep…I’m so tired I can scarcely keep my eyes open.”

“I _think_ ,” Visenya tells her, “Just to be safe I ought to stay here with you tonight.”

“Fine,” Sansa concedes after a pause.

“Just don’t hit me in the face again,” Visenya tells her pointedly, finishing her water and fruit before stripping out of her gown. “I’m just as exhausted as you. I could use some sleep as well.”

Both are just barely getting to sleep when a voice drifts from the doorway of the guest chambers, “My lady?”

“Ah _Motherhood_ ,” Visenya grins in the darkness from beside Sansa, “That’ll be you he’s calling for.”

Sansa glowers at Visenya and then rolls to her side to look at Gyan who’s watching her from the doorway nervously. “Come here Gyan…are you alright?”

“I want to sleep in here,” he asks quietly, “I….”

“He’s afraid of the banners,” Visenya tells Sansa quietly, “They’re a bit savage aren’t they boy?”

“His name is _Gyan_ ,” Sansa tells Visenya sourly and then looks at Gyan, “Come on.”

And so, despite Visenya’s rude grumbling they shift enough to let the boy sleep between them. Visenya at one point gets up to lock the door and set Dark Sister beside her in bed, just in case. Once they were settled, they sleep. Sansa can’t help but find the situation a little funny, all three of them cramped into one bed hiding in a guest room with a sword and locked door just in case somebody tried something stupid.

 

* * *

 

When she wakes next, it’s near noon. Looking to her left she sees Visenya, her arm curled around Gyan’s shoulders and his head on her shoulder as the two of them sleep. It’s amusing to see that side of her, the side that would show kindness to a frightened child like that. Visenya was two faced, that much was certain. One side of her was vicious and cunning, but when it came to her son or her family she was a totally different person. Somehow Gyan managed to worm his way into that, and now she was showing kindness to him as well.

It was reassuring for Sansa. She would have to take him back to Dragonstone with her. She wouldn’t dare risk upsetting the people further by living in the palace with him. It would also enforce the banners to yield to the Targaryens until Gyan came of age if Sansa took Gyan on as her ward. Her Father did that once with Theon, and it worked out well enough…that is until Theon fake-murdered her brothers and burned Winterfell to the ground….

She just had to hope Gyan would have more sense.

Carefully she untangles herself from Gyan and Visenya and unlocks the bed chamber door, stepping out into the hall. Looking around, she notes how empty the palace is. Most of the servants have probably abandoned her. She couldn’t blame them, they wouldn’t take pay from a woman who they felt was usurping the Martells.

“You there,” Sansa says as a young girl darts by in the adjacent hall.

She stops, turns and looks at Sansa with wide eyes. Immediately she drops to her knees and bows her head, “Your highness, forgive me.”

“No,” Sansa tells her quickly the girl was absolutely trembling. What did she think Sansa was going to do? “Don’t do that…it’s alright. I’m not angry or anything.”

“They’ve all gone your highness,” the girl says tentatively, “They told me to go too but I was scared.”

“What’s your name?” Sansa asks her gently, “My name is Sansa.”

“Lyra,” she answers softly.

“Well Lyra,” Sansa tells her, “I’m not angry. I will pay you whatever you wish if you’d stay on and work for us. My son is going to be awake soon and he’ll be hungry…would you mind making some breakfast for him?”

“Yes your highness,” Lyra curtseys as neatly as she can before running off for the kitchens.

Frowning, Sansa walks through the halls and outside onto the terrace just above the water fountain. She turns her gaze out onto the sea in the distance beyond the Shadow City, and her stomach churns nervously. Soon hundreds of dornishmen will know what’s going on. Soon she’ll be facing them as their Princess, and it made her incredibly nervous. They’re going to hate her, but she’s doing it for their own good even if they don’t realize it.

“Your highness,” Lyra’s voice again, and she seems frightened.

“Yes?” Sansa turns, frowning at her, “Lyra what’s wrong?”

“The…” Lyra stutters nervously, “There’s a man outside….in the desert…”

“What?” Sansa frowns at her, confused.

“In the desert…. _he’s_ out there…with that dragon,” Lyra looks as though she’s about to cry, and Sansa finally understands.

“Oh no Lyra,” Sansa says quickly, “No, no…don’t cry. I know you’re frightened but I promise you he won’t harm you or anyone here.”

Lyra just nods, her hands visibly trembling as she grips the edges of her gown. Sansa steps past her and grabs silk shawl to protect her skin and hair from the sun. She heads outside to the stables where she finds several sand steeds, alone and unattended. “Bastards,” Sansa scowls, “They left you here alone and didn’t even feed you.” Quickly she fills there troughs with whatever she can find and orders Lyra to give them water before she takes one and heads out into the desert.

* * *

 

An angry Aegon is no laughing matter. She can see Balarion in the distance, and Aegon sitting under the shade of his wing. He stands when he sees her, Sansa sliding off the horses back as she arrives. “I told you not to come here.”

“I don’t recall having to take orders from you,” Aegon counters pointedly. “I received Visenya’s letter. She tells me you declared yourself Princess Regent.”

“I did,” Sansa stands her ground, chin up. Aegon looks cross, and it was probably because she did it without his consent.

“You’re playing with fire Sansa,” he scowls at her, “What you’re trying to do could get you _killed_.”

“I know,” Sansa admits, “but I can’t turn my back on them Aegon.”

“Why not?” he scowls at her, “They’d turn their back on _you_.”

“ _Aegon_ ,” Sansa sighs wearily.

“ _No_ ,” he snaps so sharply it makes her jump. “You will relent and release the boy. Let his banners figure out what to do with him. I want no part of this, and I can imagine they want no part of _me_ either.”

“I will not,” Sansa tells him firmly, glowering up at him.

“What did you say to me?” he says, brows furrowed in anger, “Sansa I am the _King_.”

“Well technically I’ve not been born yet so your no King of mine,” Sansa counters quickly, “and I can’t leave the boy Aegon….I can’t do it.”

“And why not?” He scowls at her angrily.

“Because,” Sansa says softly, her anger subsiding a little, “He’s Oberyn’s grandfather.”

“How do you know this?” he tilts his head, “Sansa tell me you didn’t know about all of this beforehand…tell me you didn’t keep something like this secret from me.”

“I _didn’t_ ,” Sansa says pointedly, “I would never keep a secret from you like this, I told you I wouldn’t and I haven’t. He has Oberyn’s eyes…that’s how I know. The Martells are all dead, if that were true then I shouldn’t be here but I am. That means the boy is the heir…that means it will be through him that the Martell’s survive.”

“And you want me to legalize him?” Aegon scowls at her, irritation creeping up and down his spine. She had a lot of nerve asking all this of him.

“Yes,” Sansa tells him tentatively, “I know you’re angry with me Aegon. I’m sorry…but I have no choice and I think you know that. I wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t with good reason.”

He just stands there and glares at her angrily before turning and walking back towards Balarion. “I will return for you tomorrow. You will sort out this bloody stupid mess, you will be ready to leave and you will bring the boy with you.”

“What about Visenya?” Sansa frowns at him.

“Visenya is smart,” Aegon says sourly as he scowls at her, “She can find her own way home.”

Well that wasn’t going to happen. He’d calm down in an hour and decide to go back for Visenya once he’s carted Sansa and Gyan off to Dragonstone. She hoped he wasn’t angry with her over this; it wasn’t even her idea…

“It isn’t Visenya’s fault Aegon,” Sansa calls to him, “Please don’t blame her.”

“Oh it’s as much her fault as it is _yours_ ,” he growls at her, “She shouldn’t have allowed it.”

“You’re being _ridiculous_!” Sansa shouts at him in frustration, “You know I had to do it!”

“Of course you did,” he sighs, relenting a little. He pauses mid-climb up Balarion’s shoulder to look at her, “But you _will_ come home tomorrow. I suggest you finish everything now while you still can. Let me think about this for a while Sansa…I need time to think.”

Sansa nods, watching him settle onto Balarion’s shoulders, “I’m sorry…” she murmurs softly as he takes off into the sky, the wind from Balarion’s wings ruffling her hair.

 

 


	93. Chapter 93

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

“I really _love_ how he leaves me to walk home while he’ll whisk you and the boy away on Balarion’s back,” Visenya tells Sansa sourly the next morning. “It just rings true how much my brother really does love me.”

“He won’t make you walk home,” Sansa tells her, “He’s just worked himself up into a temper. Let him calm down first and then he’ll see reason.”

“Yes,” Visenya smiles as she sips wine from a goblet, “it won’t stop me from poking holes in his reasoning however…just you _wait_ till I get home.”

“Go easy on him,” Sansa tells her, “It’s my fault really…I did this without his consent.”

“True,” Visenya nods, “and I like your reasoning, that’s why I didn’t stop you. I knew he’d throw a fit but he’ll get over it eventually.”

“You _do_ realize that there are hundreds of people outside these wall probably lighting torches and wielding pitchforks,” Sansa points out.

“That’s your problem,” Visenya smiles thinly at her; “my brother is my problem. I’ll get him to come around Sansa,” she sighs softly, “He’s just stubborn is all.”

“No but I do mean,” Sansa tells her, “How do you plan on getting out of the Shadow City in one piece?”

“You got out,” Visenya tells her, “You took a horse out into the middle of the dornish desert.”

“That was _before_ they were looking to cut off my head,” Sansa tells her dryly, narrowing her gaze.

Sighing Visenya rubs her face tiredly, “We’ll both have to escape unnoticed somehow. The banners might help if they thought the boy was in danger.”

“He _is_ in danger,” Sansa tells her flatly, “The whole of Dorne wants us dead, but that’s no surprise.” Sansa sighs heavily, “I can understand their anger….but I just…” Sansa groans aloud, “I don’t know how we’re going to do this.”

“Well,” Visenya tells her, “First of all you need to show them that you’re on their side,” she explains pointedly, “They’ll put the pitchforks down as soon as they see you aren’t planning on burning them alive in their sleep.”

“Ok,” Sansa says, clearing her thoughts and running her pale fingers through her hair as she contemplates the situation, “First of all I will say it again, _no dragons_. Second, you and Aegon have to go. At least twenty score saw Balarion yesterday and it gave them a nasty fright.”

“Give it time,” Visenya tells her, “Let them mull it over and calm down. When they do, then you can take the boy and return to Dragonstone.”

Shaking her head in frustration, “Aegon’s determined…he’ll land in the bloody courtyard if he has to, you know he will.”

“My brother has serious issues,” Visenya tells her, “I agree. We’ve pushed him too far and now he’s panicking. Look…” Visenya debates it for a moment, “We need to get you out of the city. We’ll go at night. You know every way there is to get out of this palace unnoticed; surely you must know a way?”

Frowning Sansa searches her mind for something… _anything_. After a moment she pauses, glancing up at Visenya, “Through the outer wall…Oberyn once told me we could escape through the outer wall of the palace. It’ll take me right out into the desert.”

“Excellent,” Visenya claps her hands and smiles, “We should get ready then.”

“ _Um_ …” Sansa smiles wanly at her, “You won’t like the particulars.”

“What particulars?” Visenya blinks at her curiously, “Surely it isn’t all that bad.”

 

* * *

 

“I _wish_ I’d never asked,” Visenya says, staring down into the inky darkness of the tunnel at their feet.

“Well,” Sansa says quietly, “It’s more like the desperate sort of no other choice tunnel.”

“I can see that, yes,” Visenya nods, “ _You first_.”

“Three hundred years into the past,” Sansa tells her quietly, “It _was_ a sewer where I’m from. I have no idea what it is now.”

Gyan, who was made to come along steps up beside Sansa and looks up at her curiously, “Sansa, let me go first.”

“No,” Sansa shakes her head, “I will not risk your life like that Gyan, stay here with Visenya.”

Tentatively, Sansa climbs down first while Visenya and Gyan look on. Shaking in the darkness Sansa struggles to control her breath, pressing herself against the far wall as her feet carefully step along the narrow stone walkway that lines the pit in which the sewer water flows. “It’s definitely still a sewer.” Sansa calls up to them both as they climb down the ladder as well.

“This is _foul_ Sansa,” Visenya glowers at her.

“Then by all means Visenya,” Sansa shoots back, “Battle your way through hundreds of angry common folk.”

“We have to figure how to get them under control,” Visenya tells her, “There must be a way.”

“Not all of them hate you,” Gyan tells them both, “Some do not think it so terrible. I hear whispers on the street. Some are stirring the trouble; some are trying to stop it.”

Nodding Sansa glances back at Gyan, “We will work something out Gyan.”

They see light towards the end of the passage, glittering moonlight shining through thick bars. With a little force Visenya pries them free and Sansa along with Gyan climb out into the moonlight shining down on the surrounding desert.

“Go,” Visenya tells them both, “Aegon can’t carry all three of us. I’ll stay here and wait for him to return.”

Sansa nods and smiles faintly at her, “I told you he’d come back for you.”

“He always does,” Visenya smiles a little, “we might fight like hell but he’s still my brother.”

It makes her nervous to leave Visenya alone like this. As she and Gyan run off into the desert she glances back one last time to see Visenya pulling the bars back into place and then turning to disappear into the passage behind her. As they walk hand in hand, the uneasiness in the pit of her stomach begins to build.

“Sansa,” Gyan asks worriedly, “your shaking.”

“I just…” Swallowing thickly she shakes her head, “I’m fine Gyan.”

Something wasn’t right…something wasn’t right…

It felt like suffocating, like she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. It was like fear was swallowing her alive and her heart was racing. She was panicking, and she had no idea why. The farther they walk out into the desert, the louder the ringing in her ears became.

_Falling…_

Blinking away the flash of image she shakes it off and keeps walking. Gyan beside her is frowning worriedly, something was wrong with Sansa and he could see it clearly.

 

_Ground…._

 

“Sansa you’re scaring me,” Gyan says softly, “You’re crying.”

“I’m not,” Sansa frowns as her fingers instinctively reach for her face, startled to find them wet with tears.

 

_Sky…._

 

And then it was like the breath was knocked out of her. She gasps and collapses to her knees, staring at the open desert landscape before her. Yet she couldn’t see the landscape anymore, all she could see was the bright noonday sun on the back of a dragon shimmering gold and silver. The dragon howling in pain as spear pierces its eye and sword through its back just behind her. A dornishmen behind her looms as the dragon falls from the sky and she loses her grip on the reins. She screams and becomes weightless as she falls, the sand, the sky with its bright sun, the sand below with dornishmen scattered all over gleaming in the sun in their armor. She cries as she falls, she knows she will never see her family again…

 _Crack_.

Her body is broken upon the ground and she can’t breathe, she can’t _move_ …

 

“SANSA!” a voice is screaming nearby. When she blinks the scene disappears, and she’s alive and safe and kneeling in the sand. When she looks up, Gyan is standing over her looking terrified, “Sansa what’s wrong? You were _screaming_.”

“This is where it happened…” Sansa swallows thickly, “This is where she fell…”

“What happened?” another voice, Aegon’s voice now. “Why was she screaming?”

“I don’t know,” Gyan’s voice, terrified and shaking. He’s afraid of Aegon that much was certain. “She just started screaming…”

“Sansa?” Aegon’s voice, he’s lifting her up into his arms and she’s being carried, “Sansa snap out of it…tell me what happened. Why are you crying?”

Shaking her head she can’t speak, she can’t _think_. All she can do is replay the scene in her head, the terror, the sorrow….

“Boy,” Aegon tells Gyan, “I need to get her up onto Balarion’s back, can you climb up on your own?”

Wide eyed, Gyan looks up at the gigantic black dragon and then at Aegon and nods. He’s terrified and as Sansa’s head rolls to the side she can see his face. She struggles, swallows thickly and just barely manages to get out, “Don’t be afraid…don’t…don’t…”

Aegon stiffens against her and she thinks he realizes what he might be doing, he glances back at the boy and sighs heavily, “It’s alright…Balarion won’t hurt you….come on boy, we have to go.”

“Gyan,” Sansa manages to choke out, “ _Gyan_ ….”

“Gyan,” Aegon corrects himself as he helps her up onto Balarion. Her fingers are numb as they dig into the glittering black scales, shaking and unable to really grip anything. He slides onto the saddle behind her and helps her sit up, Sansa slumping weakly against his chest. Gyan joins them third, trembling badly as he settles himself in front of Sansa.

Fear rises like a living thing in her chest; she doesn’t want to ride a dragon right now. She just fell hundreds of feet through the air off a back of a dragon….she can’t do this again, not right now.  So she starts to cry, and she’s fighting it so hard because she doesn’t want to frighten Gyan or worry Aegon. She probably looks completely mad, she doesn’t even know how to explain what she just saw and felt.

“ _Brave_ ,” Sansa whispers to Gyan, “You’re so brave.”

“Sansa,” Aegon’s voice near her ear, “ _Breath_.”

She obeys immediately, sucking in a lung full of air as she struggles to calm her own nerves and wipe the tears from her face. Aegon takes the reins of Balarion and they soar into the sky, and if Sansa weren’t in the middle of a panic attack she might have been delighted to think that she was getting the honor of a flight on Balarion’s back. How many people actually got to do that anyways?

Gyan clings like a cat on ledge being dangled over water as they go, and Sansa is distinctly reminded of Oberyn and his aversion to flying. Gently she tries to pat his shoulder and reassure him, but the boy was stubborn as well as frightened out of his mind. He puts on a brave front and sits up, trying to look brave even though it was clear to both Aegon and Sansa that he was practically beside himself.

After that she doesn’t remember much of the trip back to Dragonstone. She drifts to sleep at some point, and when she wakes she’s being carried into the keep with Gyan trailing along behind Aegon. Aegon gives quiet orders to one of the servants and nods towards Gyan before proceeding on towards the North wing.

 

* * *

 

When she wakes next its morning, the sunlight glitters down upon her face through the mosaic glass windows of her bed chambers. She yawns and rolls to one side, her eyes still closed as her nose bumps along something warm and solid. Frowning, she opens her eyes and blinks up at Aegon’s peaceful face.

Oh not _again_ …

Cautiously she detangles herself from him and rolls over, slowly creeping out of bed. He wasn’t drunk this time, and for all she knew he could wake easily. It comes to her attention however that they were in her room now, and quietly she wonders why he stayed with her. She doesn’t have to wonder long however, because when she turns to glance back at him, his lilac gaze is on her face.

“You wouldn’t give me my arm back,” he says by way of explanation, “and you were crying.”

“I don’t remember that,” Sansa frowns, “I’m sorry for being such trouble.”

“Well,” Aegon sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with a sigh, “I couldn’t exactly just leave you like that, so I stayed.”

“Thank you,” Sansa says tentatively, “I just wish I could remember some of it is all.”

He nods and yawns, stretching, “What time is it?”

“No idea,” Sansa says, horrified when she realizes the state of her hair. It was nothing but knots and tangles. “Where’s Gyan?”

“The boy is in one of the guest chambers,” Aegon tells her, a hint of irritation in his voice.

“Aegon I had to,” Sansa says softly, “If it were Rhaenys, you’d do the same and you know it.”

Frowning, he only glares at her as he climbs out of bed, “We’ll talk about this later. I need to go get Visenya.”

“So you won’t be making her walk back to Dragonstone?” Sansa smirks at him a little, “I’m proud of you.”

“I was _angry_ ,” he tells her, “I’m not cruel. I’ll go and fetch her after I’ve washed up.”

He leaves without another word and she watches him go with a sigh. She’s really pushed him to far this time. After he’s gone she strips out of her gown and has the servants draw a bath for her. Scrubbing the dirt and grime and sand from her skin she then proceeds to wash the brown dye from her hair until it shone like fire again. It was then that she wondered what Visenya would do about her hair. No doubt she spent the entire night afterwards scrubbing the dye out of her hair for fear of Aegon seeing her that way.

Sansa sits in the hot water until it turns cold and then gets out mournfully. She almost wanted to have the water reheated but that was just pure laziness. Once she was dressed she headed out into the hall and immediately she heard the sound of laughter. Blinking she walks along the corridor until she reaches the great hall and the courtyard beyond. Through the window she could see Gyan and Aenys playing with wooden swords. It made her smile a little, that Aenys took to Gyan so easily. It was a relief that at least one member of the Targaryen family accepted him openly. Aegon and Visenya insist on referring to him as _the boy_ , which was something that needed to stop. Gyan would never feel safe here if he thought Aegon and Visenya hated him.

Sticking her head out the door she calls to them, “Have you two eaten breakfast yet?”

“Yes,” Aenys calls back as he blocks another strike by Gyan, “I’m teaching him to play swords.”

“I can see that,” Sansa smiles though she was just a little worried. Gyan was base born and had no skill in languages, writing or sword craft.  He would need to be tutored by a Maester once he was legalized. Sansa didn’t want any random Maester however; she wanted the one who worked for the Martells. She would need to convince Aegon to send for him and have him tutor Gyan. Gyan needed someone with knowledge of Dorne and all its inhabitants. He needed someone steeped in the history of it, who knew the stories. Aegon might end up hating her for it, but it was for the best.

How oddly the tables have turned lately.

The Martells were dead, Sansa took on a ward for Dorne and now she was having freak nightmares while still awake. That did concern her however, why was she dreaming about that at all? It wasn’t a premonition; she knew that now for certain. She was seeing Rhaenys before she died; she was seeing how it _happened_. Why did the dreams start now though? Sometimes being a greenseer made no sense at all. Sometimes she wished she could just be rid of it all together. Bran once told her he could see the past as well as the future through the weirwood tree. Quietly she wondered if she could do the same.

It would have to be something she could look into later.

Aegon walks into the hall behind her, interrupting her thoughts. She glances at him, and notes that his gaze was on the window and the two boys outside. “There just boys Aegon…” Sansa tells him softly, “Aenys wanted to teach him sword craft.”

“Aenys can hardly use a sword himself and he wants to teach someone else?” Aegon quirks an eyebrow at her and then sighs, “I’ll be back after nightfall,” he tells her as he pulls on his leather riding gloves, “do you have any other demands of me before I leave?”

Sansa tilts her head to look at him wearily, “I’m not making any demands of you Aegon.”

“The boy,” he counts on one finger, “the regency,” another finger, “and the whole bloody idea with Dorne altogether.”

“ _The boy’s_ name is _Gyan_ ,” Sansa tells him flatly, “If _I_ am Princess Regent and _I_ am your sister it means you have a foothold in Dorne,” she continues, “and if I hadn’t gone to Dorne we wouldn’t have known the situation. This is an opportunity for us Aegon; we can show Dorne that we want _peace_.”

He just glares at her, lilac gaze like frozen purple diamonds, “Then I propose another pact between us.”

“I’m listening,” Sansa tells him, crossing her arms.

“Regardless of the year of your birth,” he tells her, “You will heed me as your King and your brother. You are my responsibility within this household. You told me you would reason with them, you never said anything about declaring yourself Princess Regent and adopting a ward from the Martells. So my proposal is this…you will do _nothing_ without consulting me first. If we are to trust one another, we must confide in one another. I cannot appear to be weak before the realm Sansa, if they ever found out that this whole thing was your idea and I had no say in it, I’d be a laughing stalk. They’d whisper in the taverns that the King can’t even control his own _sister_ let alone the realm!”

Biting her lip she strains to hold her temper in check. He was angry and so was she, and neither was willing to budge an inch. Tilting her chin up she replies, “Well I wouldn’t want you to be laughed at.” The lady in her was demanding she yield, it was imprudent to argue with him like this. Her Mothers words about courtesy rang in her ears but she knew in her heart she had to put her foot down on this. “I am not your puppet Aegon,” she tells him softly, “I will confide in you. I will tell you of my thoughts…but you cannot think to control my every action. I had no choice in what I did; you weren’t exactly there for me to ask at the time. I had to do something quickly before it blew up in our faces. I should have written to you first…I agree. I should have at least warned you before I spoke with the banners. I’m sorry…I know I put you on the spot,” Sansa’s gentles her voice, aches for him to understand, “But it was Oberyn, Aegon. The moment I looked into his eyes…I saw my husband’s future. I knew if I let that go…if the boy died…Oberyn would never exist and I don’t think I could ever bare to live in a world where he didn’t exist.”

Aegon in silent for a long while and then quietly he replies with a sigh, “I would burn the whole of Westeros to the ground for Rhaenys,” he tells her softly, “so I can understand why you did it.” Then after another pause, “I’m being an ass…I’m sorry.”

For some bizarre reason the whole Targaryen family seemed to be a massive group of control freaks. Aegon wasn’t nearly as controlling as Visenya but he still liked to be in control. He was built for it, everything he did was calculated and measured and when things happened beyond his control he panicked. Smiling gently Sansa kisses the knuckles of his right hand and pats them gently, “I know, and I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“ _Father_ ,” Aenys’s voice echoes in the hall as he and Gyan come running in. “May I take Gyan down to the beach?”

“Only if your Aunt goes with you,” Aegon tells him, glancing at Sansa pointedly.

“Of course,” Sansa smiles warmly at Aenys and Gyan, “Let me get changed and we’ll go. Why don’t you go show Gyan the dragon stairs Aenys?”

Nodding, Aenys darts off through the castle with Gyan right behind him. Sansa watches them go before looking back at Aegon, “Be careful, I don’t know what you’ll find when you get back to Dorne. Granted Visenya might have conquered the whole kingdom on her own by the time you get back there,” she grins a little, “You’ll probably find her on the throne of Sunspear giving commands to build a great golden effigy of herself.”

He laughs a little, “She would too, if I didn’t stop her.” He pulls her in for a hug and she blinks in response, not expecting such a reaction. Tentatively she wraps her arms around his middle and hugs him back gently, not wanting to be rude. Sometimes she wondered if he was forgetting that they weren’t _actually_ siblings. Kissing the top of her head he steps away and looks at her, “I haven’t forgotten what happened in Dorne either. Later on I want to talk about that too.”

Wincing Sansa replies, “I…I can’t even explain it Aegon.”

“Is it something to do with your dreams?” he quirks an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Sansa nods, “I don’t know what to make of it honestly.”

“Then when I get back I want a full account,” he tells her pointedly as he turns to leave.

 _No you don’t_ …Sansa thinks to herself, _you really don’t_.

 


	94. Chapter 94

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

“Aegon be serious,” Sansa tells him, fighting back a smile of her own.

“I am being serious _your highness_ ,” he tells her, mirth dancing in his eyes.

“Thank you, _your grace_ ,” Sansa says with a quirky little smile of her own as she begins, “I have spoken with the banners at length for the last few weeks. We have come to an agreement but under strict terms of negotiation. I have told them I will speak for them and their concerns and I keep my promises.”

 _Sometimes_ …a flashing memory of her promise to Arya dances around in the back of her mind before it disappears.

“You want to negotiate with _me_? While I have the heir to their throne under my thumb here on Dragonstone?” Aegon quirks an eyebrow at her skeptically. “ I am King of the seven kingdoms.”

“If it please you to think so your grace,” Sansa tells him with a half-smile before she continues. “You won’t ever be King of the seven kingdoms for true with an attitude like that. The banners will stand in at Sunspear to deal with the uprising common folk and settle the disputes made before the throne. You will have no part in it,” she tells him pointedly, “they will level the disputes made against you and yours…as well as relent upon the violence between our two kingdoms if you agree to legalize Gyan.”

“They’ve all but cut you out haven’t they?” he smirks at her.

“It was a demand made,” Sansa says as she stares at the notes before her on the table, “they don’t like us and they don’t want anything to do with us. They felt it would be a gesture of good faith to allow them to keep most of the control over Dorne.”

“Just prim and polite, just like that was it?” he asks, watching her thoughtfully.

“There were some _colorful_ remarks,” Sansa recalls, words like _brotherfucker_ , and an assortment of colorful derogatives referring to her heritage and the nature of her parents. “But we settled the differences between us and carried on. My job is simple…I am the one who relates their requests to you and yours back to them.”

“You’re a messenger raven then?” He’s fighting a grin and she swats him on the arm playfully with an irritated frown. He laughs and blocks and she glares at him before continuing.

“As I was saying…Aegon _please_ try and be serious,” Sansa sighs, watching him chuckle into his goblet.

“So what other terms are they demanding then?” he asks, setting his goblet aside.

Staring down at the parchment she knew there was one other. One other she wanted no part in, but it was part of the agreement. It would put them at ease they claimed, but it settled a new sort of terror in her belly. “They ask that I wed one of their nobles,” Sansa says tentatively, “as a gesture of good faith. Unity between our two peoples…”

She swallows thickly and keeps her eyes on the parchment instead of on his face. She doesn’t want to marry _anyone_ ; she doesn’t want to wed some stranger in a faraway land. It was like the first time when she thought Oberyn had died and men were circling her like vultures over prey.

Aegon watches her thoughtfully before he says, “Absolutely not. It goes against our family’s traditions.”

“Well you don’t exactly have another brother to wed me to Aegon,” Sansa says quietly, still staring at the parchment, “so it would make sense to use me…” she trails off, swallowing, she doesn’t want this but she doesn’t have a choice, “for an advantageous marriage. It would give us another foothold in Dorne. I would have my choice of any noblemen I wanted; nobody would be forcing me into anything. It’s against Dornish law to forcibly wed a woman to someone.”

She did this to herself really. She wanted to help him connect with Dorne and she was succeeding gloriously…with only one minor flaw. She hadn’t expected _this_ ; she hadn’t expected them to want anything to do with a Targaryen woman, especially the sister of the man who burned their homes.

“And you want this?” he asks, his expression masked.

“I…” Sansa begins, struggling for words, “I feel that my duty….”

“Forget your duty for a moment,” Aegon waves her off, “Tell me what _you_ want.”

“ _I don’t want too_ ,” she says in a very small quiet voice, “I don’t want to marry _anyone_.”

“Then they can piss off,” he says quietly, “You won’t be marrying anyone if you don’t want to.”

Relief washes over her and she smiles at little at Aegon, “Thank you.”

He nods thoughtfully, “but we must decide a suitable alternative instead. I have family with the Velaryon’s, mayhaps I can wed there elder daughter to one of them. Their youngest I mean to wed to Aenys.”

Nodding, Sansa folds the parchment before her and sits back in her seat, “I think that’s all for today.”

He nods, “Can we return to informalities now?”

“Yes,” Sansa smiles faintly at him.

“Good,” he tells her, “when are you going to tell me what happened in Dorne?”

“Aegon I don’t want to talk about it,” Sansa shuts down quickly. She doesn’t want to tell him what she saw; she doesn’t want to see the sorrow on his face.  If he’d seen Oberyn die and she hadn’t, she wouldn’t want him to spell it out for her either. It was enough knowing that he was dead.

“Is it really so terrible?” he quirks an eyebrow at her.

“Yes,” Sansa tells him softly.

“You were crying…you were _terrified_ ,” he points out, “don’t you think it bothers me that you won’t tell me _why_?”

“I saw her _fall_ Aegon,” Sansa grounds out, tired of his pressing, “I saw Rhaenys fall. Are you happy now? Is that what you wanted to hear? That I’m cursed with this damned gift and it shows me things I don’t want to _see_.”

He’s quite for so long she’s afraid he’ll be angry. Yet when she looks up at him his lilac gaze is searching her face, “Tell me.”

“No,” Sansa frowns, “No that’s _awful_. That’s cruel…I won’t tell you how she---…”

“I want to know,” he admits softly, “do you know how long I’ve gone over it in my head, wondering what went wrong?”

Stiffly, Sansa stares at the table and frowns, “I didn’t see _her_ per say,” she begins softly, “It was like I was seeing through her eyes…like I was the one….” She swallows, “Like I was the one falling.”

He groans, “and I made you get on Balarion afterwards,” he rubs his face tiredly; “you must have been terrified.”

She nods, “I held it together though…Gyan was more afraid then I was I think.”

“So…” he says tentatively, staring at the grain in the wood of his desk, “so she fell…”

“Why would you want to know this?” Sansa tells him gently, “Aegon I didn’t want you to know any of this…I didn’t want to tell you, I wanted to spare you.”

“Tell me what happened Sansa,” he says firmly.

“She was flying…and this man jumped onto Meraxes back and he drove his sword through his back behind her…and then a spear hit him right in the eye…and she just… _fell_. I think that place where you found me is where she fell.”

He nods, the thoughts rolling around in his head, “I never even got to say goodbye. I never saw her again…I never even got her body back.”

“I never got to have a proper funeral for Oberyn,” Sansa tells him quietly, her mind distant, “I only sat with him for a while…I cleaned him up and I readied him to be taken back to Dorne. After that….” She sighs and shakes her head, “I have no idea how Doran or Arianne is handling any of it. I never even got to say goodbye to my family…”

“Then why don’t you write to them?” Aegon asks her, “We can find a way to make sure they get it.”

“That would be good I think,” Sansa smiles faintly, nodding.

She could find a way to tell them goodbye somehow. It bothers her too, that she never got to have a funeral for Oberyn. It was like she could never actually say goodbye because she had to leave so quickly. But she was a warrior of her own kind; Oberyn would want her to do this if it meant she could help their family…if it meant she would be safe.

She would have a funeral for him.

She would do something, even if it was small. She had to let him go at some point, and she hasn’t exactly been doing what he asked her to do. Excusing herself from Aegon’s study she sets off to make preparations. It wouldn’t be much, but it would be something.

* * *

 

In the night, when everyone goes to bed Sansa creeps down the dragon stairs towards the beach. She carries with her candle and a tiny wooden boat she had brought up from the village. In the old days, the Rhoynar would send their loved ones off in a funeral upon the greenblood, symbolizing a return to the arms of the Mother. The summer set sea was not the greenblood, but she imagines the Mother would know of Sansa’s deed regardless and Oberyn’s spirit, wherever he may be would be carried home regardless.

She is shrouded in black, mourning colors. On her finger she’s put her wedding ring back on, a gold and pearl ring that shimmered like the sun. She’d taken it off long ago to protect it, she was afraid she would lose it in Dorne. Carefully she steps barefoot across the beach and to the water’s edge where she sets the little wooden boat with the candle nestled in the middle atop pieces of dried grass and twigs. In the boat she set things connected to his life. A summer blossom from the day he met her, an orange handkerchief she made with the Martell sigil stitched into one corner to symbolize a burial shroud, and the tip of a dornish spear, a token she found inside Sunspear after the banners had left. It may have been left as a reminder to her what was done to Rhaenys, as she found it on the throne. It may have been a threat too, and she took no chances with it. She had it cleaned before she dared touch the metal with bare fingertips. It had the Martell sigil etched into it, and that was enough for Sansa. It would symbolize Oberyn’s famed spear.

Carefully once she’d set everything in the boat she lit the candle and pushed walked out into the sea until the water splashed against her knees. Gently she set the little boat in the water and watched it float away, swaying with the flow of the water. “Mother,” Sansa whispers to the goddess of the greenblood, “Carry my beloved home…cradle his spirit in your arms and safeguard him on his journey.”

Slowly as the little boat drifts farther out to sea, Sansa watches as the candle tips and the contents of the little boat are set aflame.  She stands there in the water until the little boat is not but a glimmering bright light out at sea and finally sinks beneath the waves and disappears.

* * *

 

In the morning when she wakes, she can hear Aenys and Gyan running through the halls outside. Smiling she rolls out of bed and gets dressed, wandering down the corridor until she finds them outside near the dragon stairs. They’d been playing all morning it seemed, and she notes there messy appearance. The Maester from Dorne would be here this time tomorrow and Gyan needed to be presentable. “You two are absolutely filthy,” Sansa remarks aloud, “what have you been up to?”

“I took Gyan down to the caves below the keep,” Aenys tells her, “We went looking for dragon glass.”

Dragon glass was abundant in the sand below the keep due to the dragon pits being so close by. Often times the heat of their fire would burn the sand and dragon glass would form. Tilting her head to one side Gyan smiles and yanks gently on her skirts, holding something up for her inspection.

“For you,” Gyan tells her softly, “It reminds me of your hair.”

Frowning, she extends her hand out as Gyan presses the tiny summer blossom into her palm and then proceeds to run off with Aenys. She stares at the blossom in her hands and smiles, closing her eyes against the memories coursing through her mind. Quietly she weaves it into her hair behind one ear like Oberyn used to do and sighs. That boy was definitely his grandfather alright.

* * *

 

In the following days, the Maester from Dorne arrives. He is an elderly man with greying hair and knowing dark eyes.  Sansa greets him in the great hall as he is shone through the wide double doors of the keep.

“Maester Fernz,” Sansa smiles, bowing her head politely, “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Your highness,” he bows his head politely, “it isn’t often one gets to travel through the mouth of a great stone dragon just to enter a keep, I think I have suddenly found this journey worth the trip.”

Smiling, Sansa replies, “Yes…it’s a bit much isn’t it? My great grandfather built this keep when he came here long ago from Valyria.”

“Where is the boy?” the Maester asks, switching subjects, “I understand his grace the King has legalized him?”

“Yes,” Sansa nods as they walk, Sansa leading the Maester up to the library, “I thought perhaps you would enjoy tutoring him in the library as we have such a wide selection of volumes for your use.”

Nodding the Maester replies, “Have you any requests for his instruction?”

“Only that he is taught the ways of his people,” Sansa tells him, “I want him taught as you would teach any Martell. I would also request that he learn High Valyrian….” She pauses for a moment before she adds, “Only if you think it prudent. I understand that the Rhoynar were enslaved by the Valyrians and forced to learn their language.”

The Maester nods, considering it, “He should know it…it would be good for him to understand many different tongues if he is to rule Dorne.” He pauses in before the doors of the library and smiles wryly at Sansa, “and your people did _try_ to enslave us…I suppose it was the effort that counted.”

That’s what she loved about Dorne.

You could burn them and beat them and threaten them and they would never yield. Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. It was the beauty of house Martell, and it was what made her strong when she felt weak. Those words whispered like a mantra would keep her strong forever.

“Now then,” the Maester says as they enter the library and find Aenys sitting alongside Gyan, pouring over maps of Westeros. “You must be his highness Prince Gyan.”

Gyan looks up, stepping around the table and bowing his head politely, shifting his gaze between Sansa who stood behind the maester gesturing for him to be polite and courteous. She couldn’t really help it; she wanted him to impress the Maester. Mouthing instructions wordlessly Gyan replies to the Maester, “I am honored to have you here, Maester Fernz.”

“Now then young man,” the Maester says, “tell me…can you read? Write? Tell me of what you _do_ know…”

And so it began, as Sansa looked on while the Maester began Gyan’s tutoring. She had every faith the Maester would do his job well. It was clear that he cared deeply for the Martells as Maester Luwin had cared for her family.

 

* * *

 

**Present Day**

 

Arya Stark sits on the bow of a boat and stares listlessly out at the dark sea before her. It was frustrating enough for her to feel useless, but now she was just irritated. How were they supposed to find a key that Sansa supposedly hid three hundred years ago? Three hundred years in the past, where she married a Targaryen and became a Queen. There were tiny little details Arya left out when speaking to Jon, details pertaining to Sansa’s fate.  In truth Arya was only guessing, maybe even _hoping_ Sansa was happy. It said nothing of love or joy, it only spoke of her becoming Queen. What were the particulars between she and Aegon? Were they wed as man and wife or was it a shame like the foundations of her being his sister? There were other things too, darker parts of the journal about a woman called Haessa. Arya now knew the name of the witch, but she dared not breathe a word of it to anyone. She didn’t know enough to make any use of it anyways.

“Arya?” Gendry’s voice sounds in the darkness behind her, “hey…”

“hey,” Arya replies quietly without looking at him. He comes to sit beside her and stares out at the sea as well. In his lap is something long and wrapped in leather. “What’s that?”

“A gift,” Gendry says quietly, “it’s for you….Prince Oberyn had it made for you before he died.”

“A gift?” Arya frowns at him, “what sort of gift?”

“Well,” Gendry smiles faintly at her, “Open it up and take a look.”

Unwrapping the object Sansa stares down at the shimmering steel in her hands. It was a long sword, made just a bit smaller to fit a woman….

“He had this made for me?” Arya blinks up at Gendry.

“Yes,” Gendry tells her, “It’s Ice….your Father’s great sword. Prince Oberyn found all the pieces of it and had them all melted down and reforged. He made two swords, one for your brother Rickon…and one for you.”

“It’s…” Arya blinks down at the sword and then at Gendry, “This is Valyrian steel?”

“Yep,” Gendry grins at her nodding, “Now you know why it took me so long to forge it. That stuff is tricky as hell to work with.” He watches her staring at the sword and adds, “So…what are you going to name it?”

“Winter,” Arya says softly, “It’s called Winter.”

Gendry nods, “Ice and Winter….good names for swords, especially Stark swords.”

Arya looks up at him and smiles, “Thank you Gendry…this is…this is _amazing_.”

Gendry blushes a little and stares up at the stars above, “It was nothing really.”

“Do you have the other one?” Arya asks, quirking an eyebrow.

Gendry nods, “I’ve got it back in my cabin…did you want to show Rickon?”

Arya nods thoughtfully, “Let’s wait for his name day. It’ll be a good surprise. I think I’ll show Uncle Benjen though.” She stands and smiles at Gendry before turning to leave. She pauses for a moment though and turns back, stares at Gendry and then starts to walk off again. With a deep breath, she turns back one last time, walks up to him and aims to kiss him on the cheek when he turns his face just enough and their lips touch.  Arya freezes in place, but Gendry’s warm calloused hand reaches up and touches her cheek as he gently presses, deepening the kiss.  Then it was over and Arya steps back, blinking at him. “I…uh…”

Gendry just watches her with a little smile of his own, “Go on then,” he nods his head back towards the cabin, “Go show your Uncle.”

“Thank you,” Arya breathes, relieved that he wasn’t going to make her stand there and talk about feelings. Gendry just chuckles a little and watches her go before he turns his gaze back out to the sea.

“Women,” he shakes his head, musing upon the look on Arya’s face when he kissed her. It had been everything he thought it would be. He smiles to himself as he glances back to watch her go, the brunette beauty disappearing into the cabins below.

One day if he were _really_ lucky she might even kiss him back.

 

 


	95. Chapter 95

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

 

It was a rainy afternoon when Aegon came to her; she was sitting quietly in the window of the Northern wing parlor watching the rain fall, a book resting beside her. Rain always made her think of home, not Dorne but Winterfell. Sometimes during the summer it would rain, granted that rain would turn to hail before it ever touched the ground but it was rain nonetheless. The sea outside churned in the howling wind and fire in the hearth behind her flickered each time the wind howled down the chimney.

“There you are,” he says as he enters the Northern wing, “I need a favor from you.”

Behind Sansa, Gyan is sitting near the hearth with a book open in his lap as well, a quill in his hand. Maester Fernz was teaching him his letters, and Aegon stops to look at him. Sansa, following his gaze says in a soft voice, “Gyan, go and play with Aenys, I need to speak to his grace alone please.”

 _His grace_.

She was using those terms to teach Gyan how to address people. Aegon played along just to help her, always addressing Gyan as _Prince Gyan_ or _your highness_ rather than _the boy_ or _Gyan_. So when Gyan got up to leave Sansa clears her throat and stares at him pointedly. He stops, shifting his gaze between Sansa and Aegon before he bows his head politely, “Your grace.” Then he runs off and Sansa and Aegon are alone.

“I’m leaving for the Vale tomorrow,” he tells her as he steps closer, moving the book aside so he can sit with her on the window ledge, “I’ve been invited to the apple festival at Highgarden however. Visenya needs to stay in Kings Landing and deal with business there, so I want you to go to Highgarden in my place.”

Blinking, Sansa turns her gaze upon him, “Me? Alone?” She frowns at him a little in her confusion, “Aegon…I’ve never…”

“I know,” he tells her, tilting his head to one side, “but you’ve proven yourself capable enough at the Aegonfort. Besides, the people of Westeros want to meet you. I’m killing two birds with one stone here you know,” he grins at her wryly before he adds, “I’d be doing away with all the pestering of people who want to meet you and I’d be getting out of yet _another_ apple festival. I’m not particularly keen on parties…I think you know that.”

Smiling Sansa nods, “and parties don’t bother me a bit. In fact I think I could use a good party.”

Frowning Aegon regards her thoughtfully, “Do I bore you that much?”

“No,” Sansa smiles at him and pats his knees reassuringly, “Your no bore to me Aegon. I’ve just been so stressed out lately; it would be good for me to take my mind of things.”

He nods, “Then the apple festival should do the trick,” he tells her “Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

She leaves for Highgarden the following morning on a day when the storm clouds are steadily dissipating in the bright blue sky. Its cold out for a spring morning and everything is still wet as Blackfyre stretches his wings and Sansa seated upon his back, prepares to fly to Highgarden. She knew what to expect of course, Aegon gave her the basics before he left for the Vale. Highgarden was ruled by Harlen Tyrell with his wife Deranna. He had four children, Desmor Tyrell was his eldest and his heir, then came Tyrsta, Clayse, and Bryeana. From what rumors Sansa’s heard, Tyrsta might as well be Margarey incarnate. This wasn’t something Sansa was looking forward to in particular. Margarey towards the end of their friendship wasn’t the greatest friend in the world to her. Hopefully Tyrsta was different from her descendant.

One thing however to look forward to was the fact that she was finally going to see Highgarden for herself. She’s never actually been there, and she’s heard so many things about the place. It was said the walls were made of polished white stone that glistened in the sunlight. They were leveled in a manner that as one walked they would steadily get higher as if climbing a hill. There was Briar maze surrounding the keep, vast in size and perilous if you didn’t know the way out. They had courtyards and gardens and beautiful lakes. If Sansa had ever been given a match by Eddard Stark before his untimely death, she might have hoped to be wed to a Tyrell. It sounded like a place she would have liked to live and raise her children. In fact at one point, Margarey tried just that. Sansa would have gladly handed over the North to them at that point in her life if it meant she could rebuild her home and take back what was rightfully hers. She would have been happy being the Lady of Highgarden too, but that did not happen for Sansa. Instead she was saved by Oberyn, and she was all the happier for it.

Soaring over hillsides and mountains, the spring breeze was fresh in her face and invigorated her senses. Sansa always loved the mornings after a storm. It gave a touch of chill to the air though it was the middle of spring, and the crisp clean wind on her face gave her a certain sort of energy that left her heart racing and a smile on her face.  She reaches Highgarden near noon, circling twice over the keep to get a good look at it before being flagged down by the servants in one of the courtyards. Aegon had told her that they kept one of their courtyards specifically for his and his sister’s dragons. The entire family was lined up outside as she landed, reminiscent of when Eddard Stark lined up his own family to greet the Baratheon’s when they arrived.

“Your highness,” Harlen Tyrell begins as Sansa climbs off the back of Blackfyre and hands steers him into the pen that was set up to house him. Once he was safely inside she removes her black leather riding gloves and smiles politely at Harlen Tyrell.

“My lord,” she bows her head politely, “It is an honor to be here.”

“It is an honor to have you here,” he replies smoothly as his wife steps up beside him, “Allow me to introduce my family. This is my wife Deranna,” he tells her as the children all step up one by one right beside her, “My eldest son Desmor, my son Clayse, my daughter Tyrsta and my daughter Bryeana.”

The men bow and the women curtsey neatly as Sansa smiles at each in turn, “It’s a pleasure to meet you all at last. My brother has told me so much about you.”

“Only good things I hope your highness,” Tyrsta says with a pleasant smile.

“Only the best I assure you,” Sansa replies warmly.

“Will his grace be joining the festivities?” Harlen asks as they walk towards the great hall of the castle. Sansa drinks in her surroundings with awe, brightly colored green vines climb the walls dressed in a variety of colors. Roses, tulips, lilies, sunflowers and every variation of flower she could think of. It was similar to what she saw beyond the wall with the children yet not to such a vibrant degree. As they walk Sansa notes the sand colored cobblestone walkway and the green grass edging along the sides, the flourishing willow trees hanging lazily over man made ponds and waterfalls. There was a fountain in every courtyard and a bench under every tree. It was paradise here, beautiful beyond comparison. “No I’m afraid not,” Sansa smiles apologetically, “His grace was called away to the Vale just recently.”

Harlen nods, “I see,” he seems almost disappointed but masks it quickly, “Well I will be sure to send him a basket of our finest apples.”

“I think he would love that,” Sansa smiles warmly with a nod.

Inside the castle, Sansa is taken up a flight of stairs onto a stone landing that was a bridge between one part of the keep and the other. She follows one of the hand maidens assigned to her all the way up to a well-furnished bed chamber decorated in Targaryen colors.  “The royal guest room,” the hand maiden explains as Sansa stares at the enormous room draped in red and black silk brocade.  “If you need anything your highness, my name is Crista. Just ring the bell,” she says as she motions towards a silk rope hanging nearby, “and I will come.”

“Thank you,” Sansa smiles as the woman leaves.

She can’t help but be a little childish as she flops onto the enormous soft feather bed. It’s warm and comfortable, probably meant for the likes of Aegon or Visenya and not for a Princess.  She can’t look anywhere in this room without seeing the Targaryen sigil shimmering in the sunlight.

Another thing she loved about this room was the windows. They were stone glassless arches draped in green vines. Outside each window was a wooden shutter she could pull closed to keep in the heat but well-hidden when she didn’t need it.  They gave her a great view of the castle and the rolling hills and valleys beyond swathed in orchards, vineyards and farms.

It was warm here too, _very_ warm.

That meant it was time to use some of her more revealing gowns, some she used a bit of Braavosi styling to create. She rather liked the ones she saw when they were in Braavos, so when she returned home she had a few made for her, combining a touch of Valyrian flare with Braavosi silk. The one she had in mind for the festival was a very light mint green sand silk that tied off at the neck and left her arms bare, draping loosely over her body and down low on her back while still covering her waist and hips. It was similar to a gown she wore once in Dorne, and she’d been grateful for the cut. It had been so hot there that if she’d worn anything more than that she’d have probably passed out.

Tonight however, she’d be dining with the family and tomorrow was the festival. Aegon usually ever showed his face for the festival and then left immediately afterwards.  Sansa however, he wanted to attend the dinner as well as the festival. It was to show her off more or less, give them a good look at her so they’d stop pestering him. 

With a sigh she rolls onto one side and stretches with a yawn. Her body was aching from the ride here and she wanted a bath before dinner. She might even go for a stroll in the gardens; they’d looked absolutely marvelous on the way up to the royal guest room. She was even allotted her own private courtyard reserved for the royal family. With a bit of effort Sansa climbs out of bed and sends for Crista who starts a bath for her. While Crista is doing that, Sansa picks out a light colored plum gown trimmed in gold and sets it out on the bed along with a pair of soft pale plum matching shoes.

After her bath Crista helps her dress and braids her hair in a manner to Sansa’s liking. She had a sneaking suspicion that Crista must have done Visenya’s hair at one point, considering the style of braid and manner to which Crista did it. Along with the braids Crista left soft ringlets of fire to hang down and frame her face with a gold circlet to sit upon her brow. Nodding approvingly she excuses Crista and stands, straightening her skirts.

Dinner it is.

 

* * *

 

The feasting hall is composed of wooden and stone arches, carved with depictions of roses and flowers of every different kind. The mosaic glass windows depict rolling green hills and flowers and lakes. The table Sansa sits at his long and wooden, intricate carvings of more roses lining the legs and edges of it. Everything in this room screamed _Tyrell_ , right down to the intricately woven carpets on the floor with depictions of beautiful waterfalls and flowering green vines with bright pink blooms. 

Sitting at the head of the table where she presumed Aegon must usually sit, Sansa can’t help but feel a little intimidated by it all. The entire family was seated before her, passing dishes and talking about the day. The room was full of laughter and smiles and it reminded her distinctly of the days back in Winterfell when she used to sit like this with her own family.

How she missed them all.

“I do hope you enjoy the plums your highness,” Lady Deranna tells Sansa politely, “They are the finest harvest of fire plums yet.”

“They’re quite delicious,” Sansa smiles as she cuts off another piece, delighting in the sweet nectar of the plum.

“We’ll have plenty more come the festival tomorrow,” Lady Deranna tells her, “Aside from the apples, People from all over bring their harvest to market. Fire plums, apples, peaches, lemons and every different kind of fruit you can think of. I imagine you’ve had your share of rare fruit in Volantis though?”

“Oh yes,” Sansa smiles, “Most of the fruit in Volantis is imported,” Sansa explains softly as she cuts up the roasted pork on her plate, “I admit I’ve never tasted fruit or wine like the one my brother recently shared with me over supper the other night. He told me it came from here.”

“Oh yes,” Lady Deranna smiles, pleased. “We make the most delicious apple wine; I assume you’ve tried it? His grace is very fond of the vintage.”

“It was marvelous, truly,” Sansa grins at her.

“Then I’ll see to it you have a bottle to take back to his grace before you go,” Lady Deranna smiles at her.

“That would be lovely thank you,” Sansa replies evenly as she sips the wine from her goblet. It tastes like peaches and honey, yet another vintage she’s never tried.

“Do you like to ride, your highness?” Tyrsta asks curiously.

“I do yes,” Sansa smiles at her.

“My brother Desmor is one of the finest riders in the Reach,” Tyrsta tells her and then smiles at her elder brother, “Aren’t you brother?”

“I must confess I’m not as good as my sister praises me to be,” Desmor laughs, “But I do try.”

“Oh nonsense,” Tyrsta smiles at Desmor and then looks at Sansa, “If you’d like I’m sure my brother here could take you on a tour of the vineyards before the festival tomorrow.”

“Come now sister,” Desmor smiles at Tyrsta, “we must not impose upon her highness.”

“Only if it please you,” Sansa smiles at Desmor, “I would not wish to impose upon you. I understand the festival is a busy time.”

“Oh it wouldn’t be any trouble at all,” Desmor tells her with a warm glimmer in his eyes, “I should love to take you.”

She had to admit, it did sound pleasant. She didn’t care much for horseback riding but if it were slow paced enough that she could just go along and look at the scenery…

“Then it’s settled,” Lady Deranna beams at her son, “Probably best to go in the morning before the festival, everything’s bright and beautiful at that time of day.”

When desert is served, Sansa delights in sliced peaches topped with sweet syrup. Harlen Tyrell discusses the nature of the produce they harvest and the productivity their family provides for the economy of Westeros. Sansa does her best to be attentive and interactive, she smiles and nods until she thinks her face will become stuck that way. Harlen was very animated about how strong the Tyrell house was and how much they were grateful to Aegon.

No wonder Aegon didn’t want to be here.

Harlen Tyrell was over zealous though he meant well. Aegon had bestowed upon him the whole of the Reach after the Gardeners all perished. Finally, when desert was over Sansa retired with Lady Deranna and her daughters out onto the terrace to taste a little more of that fine peach vintage from dinner and talk about things Sansa was more comfortable with. Lady Deranna as it turned out, was very good at knitting. She taught Sansa three new stitches she’d not known before and discussed the design of the Tyrell sigil she’d made on one of her husband’s handkerchiefs.

Down below they could see the men playing a game involving circular marble balls of every different color and what looked to be an oversized hammer to which they’d knock the balls through different loops pressed into the grass.

“Oh good one my love!” Lady Deranna laughs, warmth dancing in her eyes when her Husband hits a particularly good aim.

He takes off his hat and waves back, smiling as he turns to face his sons and continue the game. Lady Deranna turns to look at Sansa, beaming as she says, “My husband is the best at that game. He’s particularly fond of it you know, when we first got married he insisted upon teaching me.”

Nodding Sansa watches for a little while longer before she stands, “I must admit ladies I am exhausted, I do hope you’ll forgive me if I retire for the evening.”

“Oh not at all,” Lady Deranna says as all the women abruptly stand when Sansa does. It’s an awkward feeling, being royalty in Westeros. The traditions and customs were so different then in Dorne. Women did not stand for another regardless of status. With a smile, Sansa leaves for the royal guest room and to the ridiculously huge warm bed awaiting her.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, she wakes to the soft footsteps of Crista pulling back the drapes to let in the brilliant sunshine. She’d asked Crista to wake her early so she could go riding with Desmor before the festival.

“Good morning your highness,” Crista curtseys neatly before setting a tray of food on the table beside the bed, “I’ve brought you your breakfast. Would you like me to set out your clothes for today?”

“Yes please,” Sansa says as she starts on her breakfast, “I want my brown leather riding coat, it looks a bit chilly outside. My gloves too, and my sank silk trousers.”

“Yes your highness,” Crista nods politely before turning to retrieve the clothes that were requested.

When she returns, Sansa is half way through her breakfast. Sipping some of the orange juice in her glass she asks, “How long have you worked here Crista?”

“Since I was a child, your highness,” Crista tells her, “My mother worked here before me.”

“When the Gardener’s still ruled?” Sansa quirks an eyebrow.

“Yes your highness,” Crista replies evenly.

“And tell me,” Sansa asks softly, “What were the Gardeners like?”

Crista turns her tentative gaze upon Sansa before quickly turning it back to the floor, “I am not to speak of the Gardener’s your highness.”

“Oh…” Sansa blinks at her, “Oh well, never mind then.” Then she frowns and adds, “Why not?”

“Because it would be an insult to the great name of House Targaryen who freed us,” Crista tells her, sounding as if she’d practiced the line a thousand times.

“Of course,” Sansa takes the hint quickly and changes the subject. The last thing she wanted was to get Crista in trouble, “I’m finished now Crista, thank you.”

Crista curtseys and takes the tray from Sansa’s lap before leaving to take it to the kitchens. While she’s gone Sansa baths and dresses, braiding her own hair back to keep it from becoming nothing but tangles in the wind while she rides. Once satisfied, she makes her way down to the courtyard to meet Desmor.

 

* * *

 

“Your highness,” Desmor smiles as Sansa approaches. He bows respectfully, dark brown hair curling at the ends near ears. “I’ve chosen Rose for you; she is one of our finest mares.”

Sansa smiles warmly at him, “Thank you,” she replies, running her gloves fingers along the chestnut brown mare’s nose. Rose was beautiful in all respects, and gentle as well. Smiling because she had a feeling Desmor caught onto her nervousness she takes the reins and hauls herself up gracefully onto Roses back. “I must admit,” Sansa tells him with a faint blush to her cheeks, “My brother has tried to teach me to ride before but I’m afraid I still get a bit nervous.”

“I had a feeling,” Desmor smiles at her, “Rose is gentle, you shouldn’t have problem with her.”

The ride up the Roseroad and through the hills, at this time of morning it wasn’t heavily busy. Normally it’s thick with traffic, carts and wagons and pioneers heading in all directions carrying goods to market from Kings Landing all the way to Lannisport.

Desmor gives her a tour of the orchards and vineyards, showing off farm houses and ponds and lakes along the way. He tells stories of each and how they came to be under his families rule. He was well educated on everything, which is something he should have anyways if he were to be the Lord of the Reach. Finally they stop by a pond and Sansa slides off while Desmor dips his hands in the cool clear water for a drink and to splash some of his face and neck. It was getting warm out now, and Sansa as delicately as she can, dips a bare hand into the water so she might have a drink and splash a little on her brow as well.

“For you princess,” Desmor tells her, extending an apple blossom to her from a nearby tree. Sansa smiles brightly and takes it. It’s lovely and in full bloom and as she stares at it, inhaling it’s sweet fragrance she is reminded of something Oberyn once taught her about flowers. Flowers have meanings, and apple blossoms….

_I prefer you…_

Blinking she pretends that she hasn’t caught on and tucks the flower neatly into her hair. She doesn’t want to offend Desmor; he seems quite sweet and sincere. He was unwed and the heir to all of Highgarden, it was no wonder he might be looking at her. He blushes a little and climbs back onto his steed, Sansa following in turn. They ride along for a while longer, past sprawling keeps and vineyards and bright patches of flowers all the way back up to Highgarden. It was nearing noon now, and Sansa needed to get changed and ready for the festival.

In the courtyard Desmor swings off the back of his steed and then gracefully steps over, his hands gentle at her waist as he helps Sansa down off Rose. It wasn’t anything inappropriate of course, he did nothing wrong. It was just odd, in the way one might read the hero of the story trying to make the princess swoon sort of wrong.

Like it was intentional…

Not the good sort of intentional either. He did nothing out of the ordinary, nothing obvious at least. His hands were warm on her waist and his chest was inches from her back as she steps down to the ground. He politely releases her and steps back, allowing Sansa to step around him. While he speaks with the servants regarding the horses Sansa walks over to a bright patch of poppies in one corner of the courtyard and plucks one up with her fingers. Poppies signified something too. They said _I am not free…_

Sansa’s heart wasn’t free either, and she knew it probably would never be. She might have let Oberyn go at last but he was still tangled up in her heart, and until she could untangle herself from him she would never find love with anyone else. Politely she walks back over to Desmor who turns to face her, smiling softly. She extends the poppy out to him, and he takes it politely. One look at his face and she knew he understood the nature of flowers and their meanings.

He nods and takes her hand in his, brushing his lips over her bare knuckles delicately, “Your highness.” Then with a bow he turns and leaves. With a sigh she turns after he goes and heads back up to the royal guest room. She needed to get ready for the festival.

 


	96. Chapter 96

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

Music drifts through the open windows of the royal guest room as Sansa sits patiently while Crista carefully pins the gold and pearl headdress onto Sansa’s hair. It was a sort of circlet that sat upon her brow and draped down her hair in the back on a series of gold chains encrusted with pearls. It went well with the gown she picked out yesterday. Once she was ready she lightly dusts her wrists and neck with perfume and checks herself in the mirror before smiling at Crista, “You’ve done an excellent job.”

“Thank you your highness,” Crista smiles and curtseys neatly.

“You’re excused for the rest of the day,” Sansa tells her warmly, “go and have fun at the festival.”

Crista grins brightly at her, “Thank you your highness,” she says before she turns and leaves.

She follows Crista out, humming softly as she walks the long stone corridors and bridges back towards the great hall. In the distance out on one of the many sprawling lawns of the keep she can see brightly colored tents glittering in the sunlight and people crowding outside them. Music and food and song drifted on the wind towards Sansa and she felt a pulse of glee race through her veins. It had been so long since she did anything fun like this. The last time she was free to just frolic and enjoy herself she was with Oberyn in Dorne.  Walking gracefully down the stone steps down into the great hall she can hear voices below and pauses, one of them outstanding beyond the rest.

 _“She gave me a Poppy Mother,”_ Desmors voice says softly _, “Her intentions were quite clear.”_

 _“Oh nonsense,”_ Lady Deranna replies _, “The girl is from Volantis, no doubt she had some beau her brother forced her to leave behind when she came here. I hardly think she’s betrothed to his grace.”_

 _“Perhaps,”_ Desmor says tentatively _, “but she clearly wants no part of me.”_

 _“And it may be for the best my boy,”_ Lady Deranna sighs _, “She is a princess after all. His grace will probably want to make a more advantageous match with her then with you. I know you don’t want to hear that, I’m sorry.”_

 _“But perhaps,”_ Desmor says thoughtfully _, “I could make her love me. If she loved me…”_

 _“If she loved you,”_ Lady Deranna says, a new spark of excitement in her voice, _“If she genuinely loved you, his grace might allow it. He clearly has a deep depth of emotion for his sisters considering how he acted when Queen Rhaenys died. He might allow her to marry you if he thought she genuinely loved you. Besides, it would be a good match to some degree…she’d be the Lady of Highgarden!”_

_“Oh brother,” Tyrsta’s voice cuts in, “Perhaps you’re aiming a bit too high…”_

_“Oh hush Tyrsta,” Lady Deranna scolds her gently, “It would be good for the family if they wed. Think of the prestige it would bring us.”_

Make her love him? Was he _serious_? Mildly appalled at the notion she huffs irritably. Tyrsta clearly wasn’t Margarey incarnate, Desmor was. To think she thought to keep an eye on Tyrsta when it was Desmor she should have been paying attention to. With her hackles raised she takes a few breaths to calm herself. Desmor appeared so charming and sweet and yet he was a snake in the grass like Margarey had been with Joffrey and Tommen.

Sansa would not be like Joffrey and Tommen.

Desmor Tyrell would never have her heart and he certainly wasn’t going to have her hand either. Straightening up she clears her throat and makes enough noise to alert them of her presence as she descends the steps. She didn’t want them to know she heard them, only to make it appear that she was just barely coming down. The voices immediately hush and Tyrsta appears at the bottom of the stairs, “Your highness,” she smiles brightly.

“Lady Tyrsta,” Sansa smiles as the other woman offers her arm.

“Come,” Tyrsta grins at her, “I’ll take you out to the festival. My brother is leading the Flower parade, you must see it!”

Smiling, Sansa lets Tyrsta lead her out to the courtyard, all the while in the back of her mind wondering what other poisonous flowers might be lurking within this family.

 

* * *

 

Seated beneath a great black and red silk canopy platform draped in Targaryen sigils designed to represent the Targaryen house and the royal family, Sansa watched the parades and jousting in turn. People danced and sang and performed musical numbers for her amusement, there was food and wine and laughter all around. They even did a performance of a reenactment of when Aegon conquered Westeros. Lady Deranna told her it would be highly enlightening for her, as she was in Volantis during the time in which her brother conquered the seven kingdoms (even though Sansa knew it was really only six.)

She was able to sit through most of it, up until the part where they reenacted Harranhal. It reminded her far too much of the atrocities done to her own family, and it unsettled her quite a bit. When the day became late and the evening was setting in, dinner passed around. Sansa dined on roasted boar and delicious fruits of the sweetest kind, apple wine and sliced peaches dipped in sweet syrup and cream, and much to her great pleasure, _lemon cakes_.

She was quite full once it was over and feeling just a tad bit light headed. The wine was sweet and you really couldn’t tell you’d drunken too much until it hit you. She joined in after the dinner though, in a game of hide and seek in the maze. The participants were divided up into two teams who started on opposite ends of the maze. The game was, you had to keep from getting caught by the opposing team. The team with the fewest members caught within the hour wins. Luckily Sansa had Tyrsta on her team, and Tyrsta grew up here and new the maze by heart.

When the trumpet sounded, everybody went running. The maze was lit by moonlight alone as they ran in all directions. Sansa couldn’t contain her giggling as she ran, Tyrsta hot on her heels. The two twisted and turned through the maze, a bit tipsy from the wine and high in the energy and adrenaline coursing through their veins. In the distance music echoed over the landscape, laughter, clinking goblets and plates as people continued to eat and celebrate. It was a funny sort of excitement, she felt like a child again. She laughed and smiled and danced through the maze, a humming in her ears like a current of energy was dancing through the air.

Then suddenly, she realized she was alone.

Turning in a circle, she knew that at some point she must have lost Tyrsta. “Tyrsta?” Sansa calls aloud nervously. If she spoke to loudly someone was going to hear her, and probably not somebody on her team. “Tyrsta?”

“Not Tyrsta,” says a gravelly voice as Leaf steps into view from the shadows.

She understood now the strange current of energy in the air…she was tasting _magic_.

“Leaf,” Sansa blinks at the child before her, “It’s been so long.”

“It has,” Leaf replies, “Have you found it yet?”

“No,” Sansa swallows, her head was light and the wine was making her cheeks warm. It was hard to focus with all that energy running through her body. “I’ve searched and searched…I can’t figure out where it is. I’ve sorted that it must be somewhere winter can never reach…but where is that? Winter is everywhere…it can’t be avoided.”

“In some places it can,” Leaf replies cryptically, “In the fires that always burn.”

 _Fires that always burn_ …

It reminds her of her dreams and she suddenly changes tactics, thinking of what she saw, “Leaf…” Sansa asks, kneeling down in the grass so that she was eye level with her, “I had these dreams…dreams of someone named Daeyra and Haessa….who are they?”

“Kin,” Leaf tilts her head, “They are kin.”

“Like, family?” Sansa frowns, “am I related to them somehow?”

Leaf sighs tiredly, “You mortals…you see but you do not _see_. The mortality in you blinds you to what is obvious.”

“But Haessa,” Sansa continues, “Haessa is the witch isn’t she? She acted like she knew me…why is that?”

“Because you are _kin_ ,” Leaf says in exasperation. “You and the witch are the same.”

“I’m related to her?” Sansa raises her eyebrows, “How?”

“You are _kin_ ,” Leaf reiterates and then suddenly, she goes silent.

“ _There you are_ ,” Tyrsta breaths aloud, flushed and breathing heavily, “I’ve been looking all over for you. Desmor’s not two turns away, we must go or he’ll catch us.”

Sansa turns her gaze down towards Leaf and then to Tyrsta…who clearly couldn’t see her. “Oh,” Sansa says when she notes Tyrsta’s curious gaze turning towards the spot where Sansa was looking with a confused little frown curving her lips, “Alright…let’s go.” Following Tyrsta out she glances back at Leaf but Leaf was already gone.

They run through the maze, Sansa hiking up her skirts just enough so she won’t trip on them. One, two, three turns and Desmor jumps out right in front of her. She screams and then laughs, startled and flushed and happy all at once. The conversation she had with Leaf only moments before was drifting away on the breeze. She would worry about it later.

“Now I have you,” he grins at Sansa as Tyrsta keeps on running, shooting Sansa an apologetic look as she goes. Desmor glances behind him as his sister runs and calls, “I’ll find you soon enough little sister!”

“My lord,” Sansa laughs a little, brushing the stray red curls away from her face, “You frightened me.”

“Forgive me princess,” he bows neatly and extends a lovely red rose to her.

She blushes and accepts it with a polite smile. “Thank you my lord.”

“I believe I’ve captured you, your highness,” he grins at her.

“I believe you have my lord,” Sansa replies evenly and makes to step around him. Instead she finds his mirthful gaze turned down to her lips and a soft finger sliding over her cheek. She could see where this is going before he even got there.

Or not.

When she thought he meant to kiss her, he instead plucks a leaf from her hair and smiles, “You had something in your hair.”

“Thank you,” Sansa swallows thickly, blinking up at him. She was certain he was going for it, and then suddenly he wasn’t.

“I would not dare capture so lovely a dragon as you princess,” He tells her sweetly, “I let you free.” He tells her with a bow, one arm gesturing to the path behind him where Tyrsta ran.

Without having to be told twice, Sansa dashes off into the maze after Tyrsta. She can hear Desmor right behind her and she can’t help but giggle, darting around corners as he chases along behind her. “Run Tyrsta!” Sansa shouts and laughs as she dives behind one corner and waits for Desmor to pass by.

Once he does she glides forward, her gown flowing behind her in the soft spring breeze. The stars glimmered overhead like diamonds and the troubles of the world seemed to just melt away. She inhales deeply, a smile on her face. With her eyes closed and her head tilted back she marvels in the wind against her bare skin, all the while she can hear footsteps coming towards her. Thinking it Tyrsta she says, “You’ve found me at last.” Yet when she opens her eyes, her heart skips a beat.

Standing before her, silver gold tresses bound in braids upon her head, stood the witch. Her gown was like black ink floating on the breeze, shimmering in the moonlight like stardust itself was weaved into the fabric. Sansa stood rooted to the ground as she approached with her indigo eyes upon Sansa’s face. “So you’re the one…” her voice is like honey, high and musical.

 When she extends her hand out to touch Sansa’s face, her fingers are like metal claws, but what Sansa realizes is that they aren’t her fingers but a funny sort of metal gauntlet encasing her fingers. The tips of the claw like fingers scrap lightly across her cheek, delicate like a butterfly wing. Then she evaporates like smoke, bursting apart and disappearing into the night sky as Tyrsta appears, stepping right through the illusion. “Your highness, are you alright?”

Frowning, Sansa realizes she was shaking… _badly_.

“I’m fine Tyrsta,” Sansa smiles at her reassuringly, shaking off the ugly feeling churning in the pit of her stomach, “I’m fine.”

The game ends when Desmor finally catches his sister. Sansa was exempt from the game because of some unspoken rule about her being the conqueror’s sister. Sansa found that amusing if not a little unfair. She retires to bed shortly after, still just a little bit tipsy and exhausted from running through the maze.

* * *

 

In the morning, her head is clear and the ugly feeling in her stomach has finally dissipated. She slept without any dreams thankfully. Climbing out of bed she baths and dresses herself, desperately ready to go home. While she’s had fun at Highgarden, what happened the maze has unsettled her. How did the witch find her? Why did the witch look different? The last time she’d seen Haessa, (assuming that’s her name) she looked like the white walkers, with skin as pale as milk and hair to match. The Haessa she’d seen in the maze had pale skin kissed by the sun; her silver gold hair was a shade darker and twisted in braids upon her head.

None of it made sense.

When she was done packing Crista took her things down to the courtyard where Blackfyre awaited. Sansa, dressed in riding clothes and her hair braided back went down to the dining hall to eat breakfast before she left.

Breakfast with the Tyrells was a quiet affair. Desmor was as charming as ever, offering her fresh strawberries dipped in cream as they passed food around the table to one another. Tyrsta was a little less vibrant, clearly a bit hung over. Bryeana, though Sansa’s never heard two words out of her or her brother Clayse, was actually talkative this morning.

“Did you enjoy the festival your highness?” Bryeana asks politely over her morning toast. It was clear that she was covering for Tyrsta’s odd silence and Lady Deranna’s absence from the table. Lord Harlen was present though, and he’d made excuses for his wife claiming she was ill.

“Oh I did, thank you,” Sansa smiles brightly at Bryeana, “it was quite lovely.”

“I do hope you come to visit us again your highness,” Desmor smiles charmingly at her; “Perhaps we could go for another ride.”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Sansa smiles politely at him, “but I’m afraid my brother keeps me quite busy. I shall venture to see if I might visit again at some point however.”

“You will always be welcome here,” Clayse suddenly chimes in, a bright toothy smile on his face. Blinking at him, the boy who hasn’t so much as looked her in the eye since she arrived here was suddenly just as animated as his sister Bryeana.

Clearly the Tyrells were exhausted.

After breakfast Sansa leaves on Blackfyre, grateful to take to the skies and get some fresh air.  She soars high over Highgarden once more before she leaves, marveling at the beauty of it. It was definitely something to see and she was glad she came. Granted, she had to deal with Desmor but he was easy enough to fend off.  She might just visit again though, if only to see Tyrsta. They’d become good friends during her stay, and she would like to keep that friendship with her.

Now however, it was time to return to Dragonstone.

 


	97. Chapter 97

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

When Sansa was very small her mother once made her a scarf the color of the bright blue sky on a winter’s morning. Sansa had loved that scarf dearly, and wore it all the time. Over time, the scarf wore down and the edges became fringed. One day, Sansa tugged on one of the strings and the scarf began to unravel. The scarf was akin to the witch; Sansa had found a loose string in her knitting and started to pull. One thing that danced around in Sansa’s mind since she reached Dragonstone was this, how did the witch change appearances? Was she kin as Leaf said, to her perhaps? Maybe she had the children’s blood in her, and like Leaf she could change herself at will. Yet she’d never actually seen Leaf change appearances, she’d only ever seen her become invisible to those she didn’t want seeing her.

So the question was, could the witch change herself as Leaf did.

If so, what does that mean? It was like all the puzzle pieces were dancing around each other, right on the edge of connection.  There was the witch who could change her appearance, the white walkers who wielded ice, and the stories of firewalkers in the east living in the ruins of Valyria.

If these firewalkers existed, and she was only going off rumors and ghost stories from half drunken sailors, then what did that mean for the ice people? Did it mean that they were kin as well? Were the firewalkers elementals too? Did the children have a connection with them?

Somehow, someway…they were all connected.

Sansa needed to put it together, figure out how they were connected and what the witch had to do with it all.

“Your still at it are you?” Aegon’s voice drifts near her ear and she jumps, completely unaware of his presence. Her mind had been so deeply involved in the book before her, _Legends of the Children_ that she hadn’t even noticed him enter the library.

“I’m close…I can feel it,” Sansa says softly, “The witch can change her appearance…what sort of creature can do that?”

“The children,” Aegon suggests, “Anything with magic really.”

“But _how_?” Sansa says as she turns her face to look up at him. He was leaning over one shoulder, his right hand braced on the table while his left was balanced on the back of her chair.

“Who knows?” Aegon quirks an eyebrow, “Perhaps they have some way of shielding themselves.”

“But Leaf told me I was _kin_ Aegon,” Sansa presses gently, “Does that mean I’m whatever she is? I have the blood of the children in me.”

Aegon sighs and pulls a chair out from beside her, sitting down heavily. He is quite for a while, thoughtful before he says, “Once…when I was a boy my grandfather used to tell me stories passed down all the way from my great grandfather, Aenar Targaryen. The story goes that our family, like all other Valyrians before us are descended from dragons. Not just by rumor of course, but by fact. Our blood is kin to theirs, but how I have no idea. Some people claim it’s by magic, which once before mankind’s blood mingled with ours, we were pure and full of magic. Our people lived among the flames, and the fire did not burn us because we were of the dragon’s blood. It’s the reason our family and any other Valyrian had silver hair and purple eyes…it was a trademark of the dragon kin.”

“Kin,” Sansa blinks at him, “ _Kin!”_

Quirking an eyebrow he watches her excited expression, “Yes?”

“No Aegon,” she grins at him, “You said you were kin to the dragons. What if Leaf wasn’t talking about being kin as in a blood relation? What if he was talking about being _kin_ to something? Dragon kin, Ice people…firewalkers…the children of the forest…. What if they’re all _related_ somehow? Every magical creature is connected to form one entity, one civilization.”

“Which would mean the children might not be as friendly as we think they are,” Aegon frowns at her thoughtfully.

“No,” Sansa shakes her head, “No I think the children are on our side. I think the witch is leading them though….the white walkers…the firewalkers…what if she was behind _all of it_?”

“But that would mean she’s thousands of years old,” Aegon looks at her skeptically, “How is that possible?”

“I have no idea,” Sansa blinks at him, “Leaf is over two thousand….maybe she’s immortal like the children?”

“Her blood would never have been pure enough,” Aegon tells Sansa thoughtfully, “she should have perished in the doom.”

“My dreams,” Sansa tells him softly, “the ones I told you about. Her name is Haessa I think…and in my dreams she kept talking about being powerful, having more magic than any other. She practiced and worked at it.”

“That doesn’t mean she could make herself pureblooded,” Aegon replies.

“Maybe she found a way?” Sansa tells him, “Maybe she figured how to strip herself of her mortality?”

“It’s possible,” Aegon nods, “There are books in the citadel if you remember, the ones I spoke of a while back? They tell of stories straight from the likes of Errog the Kinslayer. Stories about the children…maybe it’s worth a look?”

Nodding Sansa replies “Send for them, it might help.”

Aegon sighs and rubs his face tiredly. It was late at night when he found Sansa in here; he was surprised she was still awake. Her determination to ferret out this mystery has kept her up at odd hours lately ever since she’d come back from Highgarden. It was nice to have her here though, if only to shake off the quiet of the castle. Visenya was never here and Aenys was always running around with Gyan. He had no one to talk to anymore, no one to share meals with. Sometimes if he was lucky he could get Aenys and Gyan to sit still long enough to eat dinner with him, but Gyan was still nervous around Aegon. He was even more so with Sansa gone.  He would have to do something about that eventually, “I’ll send for them in the morning…I think we should both go to bed however. I’ll need you awake tomorrow when we visit Lannisport.”

“Must I go?” Sansa tries not to whine, but she wants no business with the Lannisters.

“Yes,” he grins at her in amusement, “if only to save me from throttling Loren Lannister.”

She laughs, her blue eyes twinkling in the candle light, “What makes you think I’d stop you if you tried?”

“Your heart is kind,” he tells her honestly.

His words catch her off guard and she blinks at him, at the sincerity in his eyes, “I do try…”

With a half-smile he closes the book before her and sets it aside, taking her hands in his, “Come…I want to show you something.”

Blinking she lets him guide her, and before long she recognizes the route. They were headed towards the east wing. He stops at the double doors, releasing her hands with his back to her. Pressing both hands on the doors he pauses for a beat, takes a deep breath and then lets it out slowly. “I assume you know who this wing belonged too?”

“I do,” Sansa says quietly as she watches him open the door and step in, motioning for her to follow. He goes about the room lighting candles, illuminating the golden tapestries and soft white rugs, the glittering blankets, the illustrious canopies and décor. Rhaenys enjoyed light and color, she wasn’t much for gaudy things, she was more delicate and whimsical in nature. She could see the double doors to her bed chambers were open; the doors were intricately carved to make them see-through, woven like vines to connect as a door. Aegon watches her explore though Sansa never dares touch a thing. The bed itself was beautiful, glittering golden embroidery with delicate leaf designs. Behind her she can hear Aegon moving something and when she turns; he has the bow Sansa had seen on the wall so long ago in his hands.

“This was Rhaenys’s,” he explains quietly as he stares at the dragon bone bow in his hands, “I had it made for her specially. Archery was the only form of defense she was ever good at,” he laughs a little at the memories, “it’s made of dragon bone, and when dragons die they’re bones turn black. I had this polished white though, she loved lighter colors. She always thought the family colors were dark and dreary.” He smiles at the memory before he looks up at Sansa, “I want to teach you to use it.”

“Oh,” Sansa blinks, “Oh Aegon…That was Rhaenys’s…”

“And now it’s yours,” he replies evenly, she could see there would be no arguing this with him. He had that determined glint in his eyes. “I won’t ever feel comfortable with you going off doing dangerous things if you can’t even use a sword. I want to teach you to use this, to defend yourself. I have a feeling you’ll be doing dangerous things in the near future what with this business with the witch.”

Nodding Sansa chooses not to argue with him, “Alright.”

He nods approvingly with a little smile, “Good, we can start in the morning before we leave for Lannisport. I’ve got more than enough apples to teach you with…” he grins at her knowingly. “Why is it the Tyrells sent me so many apples by the way?”

“I…sort of told them you liked them,” Sansa smiles sheepishly at him.

“Oh I see,” he grins, “Well I do…but not that much. You’ll have to help me eat them, and we can use some for target practice.”

“Could we take some of them to the village?” Sansa suggests softly, “I know the villagers would enjoy them.”

He’s quiet for a beat and Sansa worries she’s offended him. Then when she looks at him she realizes it’s quite the opposite. He looks almost….bewildered. “You sound like Rhaenys,” he smiles softly, “She would have wanted the same thing.” Then he nods, “We’ll send half to the villagers and keep the other half for ourselves.”

“Deal,” Sansa smiles brightly at him as he stares at her thoughtfully, “So…the bow?”

“Yes,” Aegon clears his throat, realizing he was staring at her for just a _little_ too long, “The bow…I’ll meet you in the courtyard. We’ll go down to the beach and practice. I don’t want to distract Aenys from his sparring trainer…he’ll want to watch and he won’t be paying much attention to what he’s doing.”

Smiling she nods, the silence between them suddenly stretching out for too long, “So tomorrow then,” Sansa smiles as she steps past him to leave, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he tells her as he turns to watch her go, a bewildered thoughtful expression on his face.

 

* * *

 

In the morning they meet down on the beach, just the two of them as the sun creeps over the horizon. Aegon woke her before dawn and they went together down the dragon stairs, Sansa carrying the bow and Aegon a basket of apples. He didn’t want Aenys to see them, or so was his excuse. Sansa had a sneaking suspicion it was because he couldn’t sleep. She never heard him return to his own bed chambers last night and she thought he might have stayed in Rhaenys’s.

Standing on the beach he sets an apple on a nearby boulder and then gets behind her. His proximity was distracting, she could feel the heat of his body near hers, his chest lightly brushing against her back as he gently tilts her elbow out and up, “Now…keep your elbow just like that. You thumb should just barely be brushing your lip as you pull back on the bow, use that to line up the shot. The feather of the arrow should be grazing your cheek just so…” Aegon shows her, one hand adjusting her elbow while the other circles around to her other side and points towards the apple, “Line up the shot…. _breath_ ….don’t get impatient. The important thing about archery is to be patient.”

The arrow sings through the air and bounces off the rock two inches below the apple. It doesn’t matter that she missed though, Sansa’s happy she just managed to get the arrow _moving_. Grinning she tries again, Aegon stepping back to give her space and only touching her when she needed adjustment. She tries several more times, never hitting her target save once and it only skimmed the apple before knocking it off the boulder completely. She lines up to aim again when Aegon’s words distract her and she misses completely, the air flying right over the boulder and into the sand. “What?” Sansa blinks at him.

“I said,” Aegon repeats, amusement dancing in his eyes, “Desmor Tyrell seems quite taken with you. Lady Deranna wrote me to ask if you’d like to join them again for their annual rose banquet. She didn’t outright say that Desmor was keen on you, but she repeated his name several times at the very least. You went riding with him.”

“I did,” Sansa nods, “I was also chased through a briar maze by him,” Sansa smiles at the look of curiosity in Aegon’s eyes, “I also drank wine with him, and laughed with him. Yet Desmor Tyrell is very keen on my crown and not upon my heart. If I will love, I will love a man who loves me and not one who seeks only the riches and prestige having my love might give him.”

“Desmor would be lucky indeed to have your love,” Aegon muses aloud. His words surprise her and oddly enough, make her pulse race faster.  His expression is masked but Sansa wonders quietly about the glitter of something in his eyes when he looks at her. Aegon didn’t see her that way, that was ridiculous.

“My love has only ever belonged to one man,” Sansa sighs a little, “and he’s long gone from this world.”

“I know the feeling,” Aegon replies quietly, clearly reminiscing on Rhaenys once more. “I think we’ve practiced enough for today, we need to reach Lannisport by noon, I want to see what Loren Lannister has brewing in the Harbor.”

“You never loved Visenya?” She has no idea where the question came from, it just spilled from her lips without warning. She wished she could retract it, seeing the look on Aegon’s face.

“I was fond of her,” he replies as he turns to face her, his expression neutral and flat, “In the beginning when we knew we must wed, I was fond of her and she of me. We had no choice in the matter, Father demanded it. So we wed. She married me knowing I loved Rhaenys, and she willingly allowed me to marry her. Over the years it was obvious we were not a good match, but we endured each other, I did my duty by her even though she drove me absolutely mad sometimes. Since Rhaenys died, she and I can’t even stand in the same room together. So no….I never loved her, fondness perhaps…but not love.”

“Oh…” is all that seems to come out of her mouth in response, and she blushes brightly.

“Did you love Oberyn?” He asks and Sansa’s gaze snaps up to his.

Apparently they were playing the truth game now.

“I do yes,” Sansa tilts her chin up as she gazes upon him.

“And why did he never give you any children? You would have been a good Mother, yet he lay with his paramour and left you childless,” Aegon tells her flatly.

 “We wanted children,” Sansa tells him honestly, “I was busy….he was busy…”

“It bothered you though,” he replies, “That she bore him a son.”

“I _wanted_ a son yes,” Sansa grounds out, irritation dancing along her spine, “I _wanted_ children, are you happy now! Yes I did…I wanted him to get me with child and it just never happened…don’t ask me why, I just don’t know!”

Aegon just stares at her staring at him before he sighs, “We need to get to Lannisport.”

“Oh,” Sansa looks at him pointedly, “So no more true confessions then?”

“Ask me anything,” He counters quickly, “and I won’t lie to you.”

Sansa Stark, the first Westrosi woman in history who travelled through time via a magical thunder storm, was given permission by Aegon the Conqueror to ask any question she wanted. She could literally ask him _anything_.

What did she want to ask?

“Why were you asking Visenya about my hair before we left for Dorne?” Sansa asks softly. That’s been bothering her for ages honestly.

“I never asked about your hair,” Aegon frowns at her, “Though I am glad to see you’ve gotten that foul dye out of it.”

_Damnit Visenya…_

That Targaryen shrew lied to her intentionally. What was she playing at? What was her goal? Frowning she looks up at Aegon and sighs, shaking her head, “Well…that’s it really.”

“Then I have a question for you,” he tells her quietly.

“And that is?” Sansa asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“I can’t seem to figure you out,” he tells her evenly, “Everything about you is so familiar and yet we’ve hardly known each other for very long.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Sansa says softly, “I feel the same way…I just…” she shrugs, unable to explain it. “My life has been chaotic Aegon…for years and years now.” He’s staring at the bow in her hands and then it clicks into place. With a soft sigh she tilts her head to look at him, “I’m not Rhaenys, Aegon.”

“I know,” he replies quickly, “I know you’re not.”

“She and I might share some qualities…but we’re not the same person,” she says gently, stepping closer to look up at him.

He cups her cheek, gently stroking the pad of his thumb across her skin, “but you dream about her don’t you? You dream of her death…of her life.”

“I dreamt of her falling,” Sansa replies, trying to make him see reason. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew this wasn’t madness, it wasn’t the illness that took hold of Aerys or his son Rhaegar. This was just a man desperately trying to find his beloved, “not of her life. I have weird dreams Aegon,” Sansa smiles wanly up at him, “I dreamt of another woman’s life, her name was Daeyra. That’s what I dreamt of Aegon…nothing more, nothing less.” She pulls him close and slides her arms around his neck, hugging him to her as he inhales the fragrance of her hair and buries his face against her neck. “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry.”

“Then explain to me why we’re so familiar to one another,” he murmurs in her hair, “I hardly know you except I swear I do. It’s like the answer is just out of my reach…”

“Just let it go Aegon,” Sansa tells him gently, “Don’t drive yourself mad trying to find the answers. I would know, I’ve been doing that for months.”

“You have years to find that key,” Aegon reminds her quietly.

“I know,” Sansa tells him, running her fingers through his soft silver golden curls, “You know I felt that way about Oberyn too….I felt like I knew him and yet we’d only just met.”

After a long pause he pulls away from her, looking both ashamed and a little bashful, “Forgive me,” he clears his throat, “I was behaving untoward.”

“You we’re _hugging_ me,” Sansa quirks an eyebrow, “It’s fine.”

“No I meant,” Aegon pauses, “I shouldn’t have pried into your marriage.”

“I shouldn’t have pried into _yours_ ,” Sansa replies, “I deserved it.”

“Can I ask you something else?” he says as they walk together back towards the keep. The basket of apples was in his arms and the bow was slung over one of Sansa’s shoulders.

“Anything,” Sansa smiles at him, the ocean breeze in her hair as she turns her gaze upon him.

“Would you ever consider marrying again?” He asks her, curiosity dancing in his eyes.

“Perhaps,” Sansa ponders the question, “one day maybe. If I loved him perhaps…my heart is so tangled up with Oberyn,” she sighs softly, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to give my love to anyone else.”

He nods thoughtfully before he replies, “Thank you…for being honest with me.”

“I don’t like to lie to you,” Sansa smiles, a playful twinkle in her eye as she nudges him gently, “I can never lie to you anyways, you can always tell when I am.”

He grins and shrugs, all tenseness in his shoulders dissipating, his words and expression suddenly now light hearted and happy, “It’s a gift.”

“Well then come on you,” Sansa grins up at him, “Let’s go try your gift out on the Lannisters.”

 

 


	98. Chapter 98

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

Sansa didn’t particularly like showing off. The Lannisters however, needed a firm hand. Before they left she was careful to dress appropriately, flowing sand silk gown (with silk trousers for riding)  her hair braided and curled, even her gown had pearls sewn into the silk ropes that tied at her neck and hung along her arms. Another gown similar to what she wore in Highgarden, just a little more fanfare. Surprisingly, even Aegon wore a crown. He was dressed in a stiff black velvet doublet, embroidered with the Targaryen Sigil. On his brow was the famed Valyrian crown…

“I’ve never seen it before,” Sansa murmurs, reaching up to touch the crown upon his brow, “It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” he grins down at her, “I’ve always wanted a woman to tell me how beautiful I look.”

Sansa giggles, blushing, “Well you look quite beautiful your grace.”

“As do you my sister,” he grins back, his eyes on Avery who was passing behind them.

“So,” Sansa beams up at him as they retrieve their dragons, “The Lannisters…”

“The Lannisters,” Aegon sighs, “Loren’s wife is Anera Lannister, she’s a bit prickly and stiff so keep to the formalities with her. He has three children, Emilar who is his eldest son, Lylian his eldest daughter and their youngest son is called Barrish.”

“Will I be fending off Emilar as well today?” Sansa quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Oh he wouldn’t _dare_ ,” he grins at her, “Not in front your brother, no doubt he’d be afraid I’d roast him alive.”

As they walk towards the gates, Sansa’s sky blue gown fluttering in the spring breeze she asks, “Can we see Winterfell?”

Aegon pauses, one hand resting on Balarion’s muzzle and then other holding his reins, “Do you want to see it?”

“I do,” Sansa admits softly, “I wanted to fly over it before I came home from Highgarden but I thought it might cause a fuss.”

“I doubt it,” Aegon replies, “Torrhen Stark enjoys my visits and you being my sister, he’d probably welcome you with or without an invitation.”

“Oh,” Sansa tells him, staring at the reins in her hands, “It’s not that I don’t like it here Aegon…I just miss Winterfell sometimes.”

“Go then,” he answers her, “Whenever you wish…you can go visit them if you want, I won’t mind.”

Sansa turns her blue gaze up to his, smiling at him warmly, “Your too good to me.”

“I do endeavor to try,” he smiles back, “I want you to be happy here.”

“We’d better get moving,” Sansa tells him after a pause, “The Lannisters won’t wait forever.”

“Of course they will,” Aegon tells her as he climbs up onto Balarion’s back, “but I’m not rude, let’s go and visit them.”

Smiling Sansa climbs up onto Blackfyre’s back and follows Aegon up into the sky towards the West and Lannisport.

 

* * *

 

Lannisport is sprawling town by the sea. Sansa’s never actually seen Lannisport either, with its stone walls encasing the city for defense. Below them Sansa can see the Ocean Road leading into the harbor, where an entire fleet of ships is docked. The Lannisters had a fleet all to themselves, another reason for Aegon to make a show of power when visiting them. They land just below the Rock, that is of course, Casterly Rock. Their dragons are housed in a great stone cave beneath the castle itself. Sansa takes Aegon’s arm as they walk up towards the Lannisters who awaited them on the landing above.

“Your grace and your highness,” Loren Lannister bows with a flourish while his wife Anera curtseys stiffly with all the regal and grace any highborn woman could muster. Beside them, their children follow suit.  “Welcome to Casterly Rock.”

“Loren,” Aegon smiles politely, “I don’t believe you’ve had the pleasure of meeting my sister, Princess Sansa.”

“My lord,” Sansa smiles politely as Loren steps forward with a sweeping bow of his hat before kissing her hand. This man seriously liked to show off…

Behind him she could see Anera roll her eyes at her husband’s ridiculous display and her daughter Lylian giggle behind her hand alongside her little brother Barrish. Emilar on the other hand glares at the both of them, clearly more like his Mother then either of his siblings.

“Come,” Loren tells them, “I’ve had a late lunch set out for you. You must be famished,” he says as they follow the Lannisters back up into the castle. Loren takes the lead while Aegon and Sansa follow behind him; Aegon’s hand was warm on the bare skin of her lower back. Blinking in surprise by the motion she tries not to show it. She knows that Anera and her children were right behind them, and quietly she wondered what game Aegon was playing at. They could see it clearly no doubt, it probably looked odd.

They dine in the open air of the sea, a stone hall set on the outskirts of the rock high above the sea where stone pillars depicting carvings of lions twisted and turned around each one. Sansa was seated to the left of Aegon while he sits at the head of the table reserved for the King.

“Your grace,” Loren tells them both, “Your highness, I’ve brought the finest catch straight from the harbor for you to enjoy. They just brought it in this morning; I’ve never tasted anything like it I tell you.”

Sansa stares at her plate, wondering where to start. Lemon spiced salmon, a funny looking sauce she think might be made out of herbs and flour, potatoes and sweet peach wine. She eats delicately, politely as she can. It’s hard to eat when you’ve got people staring at you, curious and nosy. Aegon thinks it’s amusing though, she can tell. He keeps sneaking glances at her, a little curve to the corner of his lips. He wouldn’t dare grin at her openly in front of them, but she can tell he’s trying not to.  

They talk about the harbor a lot, something Sansa really has no knowledge of so she keeps out of the conversation. Arena asks her about Volantis, Lylian asks her about her gown and Emilar stiffly says nothing to her other than _pass the bread, please._

Clearly, _someone_ needed a hug.

He was every inch Tywin Lannister, or at the very least part of him was. He was stiff and formal and unyielding, just like his Mother. Loren was animated and full of life, his children Barrish and Lylian taking after him instead of their Mother.

* * *

 

After lunch Aegon and Sansa walked arm in arm down to the harbor with Loren and his daughter Lylian, who seemed to love the sea more than any Greyjoy. Idly Sansa wondered if the Lannisters and the Greyjoys ever had a match between them, considering both worked and lived by the sea. Aegon’s warm hand was slipping down her back again and she shoots him a curious look, “What are you _doing_?” she hisses under her breath, “They’ll _see_.”

“Oh _play along_ ,” he muses under his breath, “These people have nothing better to do with their lives than gossip. We might as well save them from their boredom and give them something to talk about. Besides, it will tell me who I can trust and who I can’t.”

“But _Visenya_ …” Sansa counters quickly, “Think of what they’ll _say_ Aegon.”

“Visenya is well aware of what they say already,” he muses to her, “They already think you and I share a bed, we might as well mess with them a bit, it’ll tell me who’s spreading rumors and who isn’t. Besides, I imagine if it gets out Visenya will get a good laugh out of it at the very least. We used to do this all the time when we first came here, just to see their reaction.”

Blinking into the afternoon sunlight, she finds herself a bit caught off guard by his words. People thought they were sleeping together? Why would they think _that_? Probably it was because of the Targaryen’s traditions; they were foreign and strange to the people of Westeros. “And I gave Desmor Tyrell a _poppy_ …” Sansa sighs under her breath, realizing now the implications. Their conversations made sense now as she recalls what she heard back in Highgarden.

“You did _what_?” he grins mischievously down at her, “Oh that’s _good_.”

“You _like_ this don’t you?” Sansa grins up at him secretly, “you think it’s funny because we’re all so stiff and formal and you Targaryens just come prancing into Westeros marrying each other and doing things totally against the rules and you think it’s funny when we all get out of sorts about it.”

“ _Sometimes_ ,” he tells her as they walk, “and sometimes,” he says as he leans close to whisper near her ear as Lylian Lannister glances back to look at them, blushing brightly and averting her gaze when she sees them. “Like I said I do it because the imagination of a person can take them on quite an adventure. It’s amusing to see what stories they come up with.”

Sansa giggles and covers her mouth quickly to smother it, blushing brightly when she notes Loren Lannister staring. They walk past vendors selling fish and produce, past people selling trinkets and jewels and gold. They stop before a large wooden vessel, elegantly painted and polished.

“This is my own personal ship,” Loren tells Aegon, “Just the other day I was out sailing with Arena when we witnessed those pirates I mentioned, the one’s stealing the gold we were sending to Braavos.”

Aegon releases her arm, his warm hand sliding away from his back as he turns to walk with Loren onto the ship to examine what they could recover before the pirates got away.  Lylian walks up to Sansa, smiling brightly, “Would you like to explore the town?”

“I would,” Sansa smiles, “That would be lovely, thank you.”

The two walk side by side through Lannisport, leaving Aegon and Loren to deal with affairs of the realm. The day was lovely save for a few clouds in the sky. Sansa guessed it might rain later. She hoped they’d be home before it did, she didn’t fancy the idea of flying in the rain and she really didn’t want to have to stay the night at Casterly Rock.

“You and his grace seem happy,” Lylian begins tentatively, “Are you happy to be home?”

“Oh yes,” Sansa smiles softly, “but Volantis was my home for so long…I do miss it. Dragonstone is nice though.”

“It seems a bit dreary,” Lylian tells her, “I’ve seen it only once in passing. Is it true that the gates at the bottom of the hill are hidden within the mouth of a great stone dragon?”

“Yes,” Sansa grins, “You can’t imagine how intimidating that was for me in the beginning.”

“You must have been so nervous,” Lylian says, “Coming to live in such a big castle with such intimidating siblings.”

Nodding Sansa replies, “I was more nervous about meeting my brother and sister then I was going into that castle,” she laughs a little, “My brother was so _serious_ when I met him.”

Lylian grins and nods before pointing at one of the vendors, “Oh I _love_ this vendor, he’s got such lovely jewelry.” Sansa follows her over to the man, eyeing the jewels while Lylian speaks with the vendor and points to a particular set of jewels shimmering like blue sapphires in the sun.

“Do you see anything you like?” Lylian smiles brightly at Sansa, she was so friendly and sweet. It threw Sansa off and yet Sansa didn’t dare trust her. Cersei Lannister had appeared friendly and sweet when she first met her, and yet she turned into this horrible woman who tricked her and lied to her.

“There all so lovely,” Sansa smiles at her.

“I think I like this one,” Aegon’s voice as they approach the two women. He steps up behind Sansa and reaches around her, lifting a chain circlet dipped in gold and inlayed with light blue jewels, “It would look well in your hair I think,” he muses allowed, holding it up in the sunlight as he glances up at the vendor.

“Oh please your grace,” the vendor says quickly, “Anything you like, and it is yours free of charge.”

Smiling Aegon glances down at Sansa, “Do you like it sister?”

“It’s lovely,” Sansa swallows, trying to play along. It was really hard not to grin when she sees the whispering between Lylian and her Father. Aegon lifts the chain and sets it neatly upon her hair, his fingers trailing along the edge of her brow and down through the ringlets of her tresses, adjusting the dangling gold chains that flow down her hair like a waterfall. “Thank you brother,” Sansa smiles up at him and then glances at Lylian expectantly.

“It looks marvelous,” Lylian smiles and nods, “It goes well with your gown.”

And then just like that, it started to rain.

Where had the sun gone? Frowning Sansa side steps the rain and keeps under the awning of the vendor’s booth. Aegon presses closer to keep out of the rain himself, the two of them chest to chest. Blushing Sansa stares anywhere but at his face, keeping her gaze firmly off to the side while Lylian and Loren to their right were trying to avoid the sudden spring storm as it pours down upon Lannisport as well.

“Oh,” Lylian cries out in frustration, “My gown will be _ruined_!”

“Not to fear my dear,” Loren tells his daughter, “Your grace I think we should return to Casterly Rock. I can have rooms made up for you both. You’re of course welcome to spend the night, I wouldn’t want you out in this storm.”

“That would be good, thank you Loren.” Aegon nods as he takes off the red velvet cape that was slung over one shoulder and drapes it over Sansa’s shoulders. She immediately lifts it, using it to shield herself from the rain and inviting Lylian to stand under it with her. The two of them hold it up over themselves and run towards the keep with Aegon and Loren trailing along behind them.

At this point Sansa wasn’t above running, it was absolutely _pouring_. This was one of her favorite gowns and she had no desire to ruin it. Lylian giggles while they go, and Sansa can’t help but smile too. It was horrible but it was fun at the same time. She makes it into the keep with at least two inches of the hem of her gown soaked in rain water and dirt. In the main hall Sansa hands Aegon back his cape and he helps her adjust the chain circlet he’d gotten for her. It had gotten a bit tousled while Sansa ran, and now it was caught in the tangled curls of her hair. She giggles while he works, feeling particularly foolish for running. Then again, she saved the majority of her gown by doing so.

“I’ll get you something dry to wear,” Lylian tells Sansa and then to them both, “the servants will see to your accommodations.”

“Thank you Lady Lylian,” Aegon tells her politely and Sansa smiles in gratitude at her.

“Your grace,” Lylian curtseys neatly before hurrying off to her bed chambers to find Sansa something clean and dry to wear.

 

* * *

 

Sansa and Aegon are given the guest wing of the castle reserved for royal visits. Sansa takes the room down the hall from Aegon’s, one with a particularly lovely view of the sea.  She changes into a white silk and gold brocade gown, far too much flourish for Sansa’s taste but Lylian was probably afraid to give her anything less extravagant for fear of insulting her. She’s just tying up the front of it when Aegon sticks his head through the door to look at her, “Are you decent?”

“If I hadn’t been brother,” Sansa smirks a little at him, “you’d have known it.”

“I ought to have knocked,” he smiles faintly at her, “apologies.”

“I’m behind a dressing screen,” Sansa shrugs as she steps out from behind it, fully dressed. She runs her fingers through her hair to untangle the mess the rain had made. “How come you don’t have to wear some ridiculous frock? Lylian gave me a gown with more pomp then I could scarcely stand.”

He grins, “It’s still lovely on you.”

“Thank you,” she smiles a little, pulling back the long winged sleeves of her gown so she can straighten the collar of the white silk shirt beneath the black doublet Loren loaned him, “Lylian told me dinner would be in an hour.”

He nods, “I hope I haven’t unsettled you,” he says as he watches her work, “If I overstep I ask that you tell me.”

“You haven’t overstepped,” Sansa smiles softly up at him, “It’s rather fun to watch them squirm honestly.”

“I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he replies softly, brushing a lock of hair away from her face, “Visenya, Rhaenys and I used to do it all the time. You should see the appalled looks on their faces…it was a good laugh.”

Grinning Sansa replies, “When I was a girl, my little sister used to prank me. She’d stuff sheep shit in my feather bed and I and my septa would spend days trying to figure out where the smell was coming from.” She giggles a little at the memory, “I’m pretty well fluent in the art of pranking someone by now. Arya taught me everything I know.”

He laughs and she blushes, watching the genuine warmth dancing in his eyes, “She put sheep shit in your bedding?” he grins, “That’s absolutely _wicked_.”

“It was,” Sansa nods as she grins back at him, “My sister and I didn’t get along very well.”

“When Visenya and Rhaenys were children, Visenya was the same way. She and Rhaenys never got along; Visenya was constantly pulling pranks on her. I had to constantly step in between them to keep the peace. I think most of it extended because Rhaenys was jealous of Visenya…she was in love with me and Visenya was the one who was going to marry me and not her. Visenya isn’t one for people encroaching on what she views as _hers_ , so she did everything she could to run Rhaenys off.”

Nodding, Sansa sits down on the soft silk bedding of the feather bed in the room, “That must have been difficult.”

“It was,” Aegon recalls aloud, walking over to the window to stare out at the stormy sea outside. The storm was howling outside, the wind beating against the windows with heavy rain. “Visenya as I told you relented after we married. She realized that we loved each other and allowed us to marry.”

“Visenya loves you, you know,” Sansa says softly as she watches him, “she loves you and she wants what is best for you. When I first came here she was convinced I was a threat to you somehow. All she wants is for you to be happy.”

He nods, “She can be cunning and crafty, manipulative, hateful, vindictive and vengeful…” Aegon muses allowed with a little half-smile, “but under all that she loves her family more than anything.”

Adjusting the gown she wears, she sighs. It’s not the most comfortable gown, and it was much heavier then what she was used to. It tied off to the side like so many gowns the women of the south often wore.  Aegon watches her fidget and frowns, tilting his head to one side, “You’re uncomfortable,” he tells her softly.

“I haven’t worn a corset in _years_ ,” Sansa tells him with a little blush, “I have to wear one with this gown and…” she sighs and shakes her head. “I’m used to the gowns I used to wear.”

“Then loosen the ties,” he suggests, “There’s no need to torture yourself. You’ve got a fine silhouette anyways; I never understood the need for a corset.” Blinking at him she raises her eyebrows and he blushes, realizing how that sounded, “I only meant that I think your form is shapely and needs no corset.”

“I wish the rest of Westeros would agree with you,” Sansa smiles at him, “but if I go down there without a corset they’ll think me unvirtuous.”

“Well according to the rest of Westeros you and I already share a bed,” he grins at her, “but I wouldn’t want your honor tarnished. Shall I help you sort the laces or would you like me to call one of the hand maidens?”

“If I do that they’ll think me imprudent,” Sansa sighs and rubs her face, “You should do it, that way nobody will be the wiser. Women in the south pride themselves on how tight they can lace a corset. If I asked for anything loser they’d call me a slob.”

She removes her gown and steps over to the dressing screen where she presses the brocade material against her front, shielding the important things from view. She had on her small clothes and a corset so it wasn’t like he could see anything anyways.

“Nobody’s going to think us inappropriate,” he reassures her as she swings the length of her tresses over one shoulder so he could work. His fingers deftly work the laces of her corset to loosen it, all the while Sansa can feel the burning in her cheeks regardless of how covered up she was, “I’ve done this for both my sisters more than once, even before we were wed.”

“No but if somebody walked in now they’d have _quite_ a story to tell,” Sansa grins a little, trying to shake off the awkwardness of the moment.  

“ _Oh_ ,” Aegon grins, “I think Visenya would want a full account if she heard _this_ particular story. Only because it would quite possibly be the boldest one we’ve tried yet.”

Sansa giggles, “Can you imagine what they’d say?”

Aegon chuckles, “I can think of a few things, nothing for a lady's ears however.”

“You’re so chivalrous,” Sansa grins as she takes a deep breath, grateful to him for loosening the corset. “So considerate of my feelings.”

“I do try,” he smiles and steps back, “All done.”

“Thank you,” Sansa grins as she takes the gown in her arms and pulls it back on, tying it off to the side.

“We should get down to dinner,” Aegon tells her, “They’ll be missing us.”

Nodding Sansa takes his proffered arm and the two head down to meet the Lannisters for dinner.

 


	99. Chapter 99

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

Dinner is roasted duck glazed with lemon sauce, (Sansa had a sneaking suspicion it was intentional seeing as she liked lemons) goblets of sweet red wine, and entertainment which included dancers from Pentos. Sansa is seated beside Aegon as they watch the exotic looking dancers in flimsy red sheer material dance and sway to a rhythmic drumming. They’d cleared the hall after supper and set a chair at the far end in the center for Aegon with a smaller one beside his for Sansa. The Lannisters sat to the far left, seated in a row as the dancers set up, then began their dance. She had a feeling the Lannisters were showing off yet again, as much prestige and power as they could display without looking like they were intentionally trying to usurp Aegon. Deep down she understood the need for it, she was just as rebellious when it came to the idea of the Bolton’s trying to usurp her. She watches with interest, the women must be cold Sansa muses, being so scantily dressed. Glancing towards Aegon she fights back a grin, he pretended to be so indifferent while he watched but she could see his eyes trailing along the women as they moved. There were men too, they were bare chested and wore red silk trousers, twisting and turning around the women.

Sansa leans her arm on the chair and sets her chin in her hand as she watches, her eyes following the movements. When they finish everyone claps and Loren announces a singer, who sings for them several songs, mostly about Aegon and his sisters. She can see the boredom dancing in his eyes when she glances at Aegon, he’s probably heard those songs a hundred times by now. Then the singer starts in on a song that catches her attention…

_The fair beauty fell_

_And her reign did not end well_

_Westeros took such a loss…_

Quickly Sansa rests her hand on Aegon’s, his body stiffening in the seat. The singer didn’t mean any harm, he wasn’t mocking Rhaenys, he was memorializing her. Aegon didn’t see it that way, she could see the fire of anger flickering in his eyes. Quickly she looks pointedly at Loren who stands and interrupts the musician.

“ _I think_ ,” Loren says, cutting the man off mid-sentence, “That will be quite enough, thank you for your time.” He waves the man off and the musician leaves, looking a bit affronted by paid well none the less.

Aegon stands and so does the rest of the room in turn. “I think I’ve had enough for this evening.”

Then he leaves and Sansa is left alone with the rest of the Lannisters staring at her in bewilderment. “His grace is tired,” Sansa covers for him quickly, “You must forgive him. Please…Lord Loren, continue.”

She endures more entertainment for an hour or so before she excuses herself as well, hurrying down the hall as quickly as she can without running to find Aegon.

 

* * *

 

Once she’s safely in the royal wing she finds him sitting in his bed chambers, staring out the window. He’s stripped down to his small clothes, and Sansa quickly averts her gaze to stare at the ceiling. “Sorry… _sorry_ ,” Sansa says quickly, “I was just worried is all.”

“I’m fine,” he replies quietly, “That musician was out of line however.”

“He was memorializing her,” Sansa tells him gently as she retrieves a blanket to set over his shoulders. He’d opened the window and the cold wind was billowing against his face as he stares out into the night.

“He was _mocking_ her,” Aegon scowls darkly, “and Loren allowed it.”

“Loren had no idea he was going to do that,” Sansa tells him evenly, turning to sit across from him, “Please don’t retaliate Aegon.”

“ _I’m not going to_ ,” he sneers, “They would deserve it though. After what they did to you and yours, they’d _deserve_ it.”

“Nobody deserves that kind of agony,” Sansa says softly, catching his hands in hers and forcing him to look at her, “I wouldn’t wish that kind of pain on anyone. Those people down there,” Sansa sighs, “are absolutely ridiculous but they’re not monsters. They had nothing to do with what happened.”

“I _know_ ,” he grounds out, swallowing his temper.

“You’re just angry,” Sansa says, “Rhaenys is a sore spot for you. They pointed it out if not intentionally, and it hurt you.” She wants to make him see reason, to think it through. When he’s angry he’s irrational, she’s never encountered anyone with a temper like his. He was sweet and charming most of the time, slow to anger but when he did get angry he was fearsome.

No wonder they called him _the dragon_.

“I know,” he breathes through his nose and she can see that he’s working it out in his mind, reviewing everything he saw and heard. “I know.”

“Good,” Sansa smiles at him, “You need to sleep now, you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Yes,” he nods as she stands, Aegon yanking off his linen tunic. Sansa blinks, watching him crawl into bed barefoot and wearing only his linen trousers.

Nodding she stands and starts for the door, blowing out the candles as she goes, “I’ll see you in the morning.” He doesn’t answer and she thinks he might have already fallen asleep. Quietly she leaves, the door clicking shut silently behind her.

 

* * *

 

In the morning they get a late start, Sansa is just barely heading out for breakfast when Aegon joins her in the hall. Her gown was freshly washed and pressed, and his clothes were dry as well. It was a relief to be out of that frock that Lylian had given her to wear. He seems somber this morning, probably ashamed because of his temper the night before. They walk arm in arm down to breakfast, Sansa catching voices drifting out into the hall with them. Quickly she stops, Aegon almost walking right into her. When he opens his mouth to ask she covers her lips with a finger and points towards the dining hall.

 _“He’s probably keen on keeping his little fire jewel all to himself_ ,” Loren Lannister says as he butters his toast _, “I wouldn’t put any hope in her Emilar.”_

 _“I hardly have any interest in her at all Father,”_ Emilar says sourly _, “I’ve no interest in a woman who’d willingly open her legs for her brother.”_

 _“Dirty traditions,”_ Sniffs Arena _, “She could scarcely wait to leave last night and rush after him.”_

 _“She seemed sweet,”_ Lylian chimes in _, “she seems to genuinely care for him.”_

 _“It doesn’t matter,”_ Arena scowls at her daughter _, “She’s_ fucking _her own brother, how would you feel if I made you marry Emilar?_ Honestly _Lylian.”_

 _“Greedy lot,”_ Emilar comments _, “They act like we’re savages they don’t dare share a bloodline with. The nerve of him hoarding his sisters to himself.”_

 _“He comes from a different world Emilar,”_ Loren explains _, “You can’t expect him to just abandon family’s traditions because we don’t agree with them.”_

 _“My handmaiden even said she saw that girl run right into his bed chambers,”_ Arena tuts disapprovingly, _“How uncouth. If they mean to keep their affair secret she ought to have more discretion.”_

Sansa smothers a giggle as Aegon pushes up against her, clearly wanting a better look at who was in the room. She shakes her head and covers his mouth before he can protest, suppressing giggles as she pushes him back away from the doors to the dining hall quickly. Aegon’s fighting a grin too with a look of _I told you so._

 _“Arena,”_ Loren’s voice is stern _, “I want none of this getting out, do you hear me? Our relations with him are already strained, I don’t want him offended. You do remember what happened to Harrenhal don’t you?”_

 _“Oh I’m not going to say anything Loren,”_ Arena scowls at her husband _, “I just think it’s highly imprudent for her to be doing that with him right under our own roof. You’d think they’d have a little more sense than that.”_

“Oh I think we should stop them there,” Aegon murmurs near her ear as he presses a warm hand to her lower back and urges her forward. Sansa steps into the room with Aegon following, smiling brightly as she takes her seat. Aegon follows suit and they share breakfast with the Lannisters with mild conversation. Sansa was repressing the urge to giggle every time she looked at Arena, the woman who was supposedly so stiff and stern and yet would openly discuss Sansa’s nonexistent sex life at the breakfast table.  

After breakfast they leave without much ceremony, Sansa wanted to leave almost as badly as Aegon did. The Lannisters wish them well and wave them off, and they soar away up into the sky back to Dragonstone.

 

* * *

 

**Present Day**

 

Dany walked steadily out onto the open plains before Kings Landing, Drogon shifting nervously behind her. There was nobody out there and yet she felt eyes upon her. The wind whips her silver hair away from her face as she turns in a circle, searching for the one who watches her. When she sees nothing, she raises her voice aloud, “Come out!” she calls, “Come out and face me! I know your there.”

There is movement behind her and she turns, it sounds like creatures scurrying across the ground but nothing seems to be moving at all. A heavy fog settles across the ground, stretching out before her well into the surrounding forest. Then she sees her, a woman in a simple blue green gown, she looks like a commoner, her silver gold hair braided over her shoulder, a gold circlet on her brow. Her indigo colored eyes remind Dany of a crystal being held up to the sun, her eyes were a facet of multiple colors but still distinctly indigo, gleaming in the faint sunlight that was quickly being swallowed up by the fog.

“You’re just like them,” the woman says, her voice was soft and musical, “Typical Targaryens. You were always bolder then you ought to be. In the days before the doom, your house wasn’t even a notable marker on any map. You were a lesser house, cowards…the whole lot of you. You _loved_ mankind though, the _humans_ …”

“What are you talking about?” Dany replies evenly, “Who are you?”

“It’s no wonder my sister chose your family,” the woman continues as if she hadn’t heard her, “She always had a soft spot for the humans you see, even when they were slaughtering our people by the thousands.”

_Sister? Who was she talking about?_

“And then she had to go and _remember_ ,” the woman scowls, “but it doesn’t surprise me. She always remembers eventually.”

“Who are you?” Dany says firmly, glaring at the woman, “Are you the one who leads the white walkers?”

“I am their _Queen_ ,” the woman tilts her head up as she regards Dany; “I am the one who will save them.”

“Then from one Queen to another,” Dany replies, “Let’s speak on civil terms. You’ve slaughtered hundreds of my people and I demand to know why. We’ve never done your people any wrong.”

“ _No_?” The woman looks at her, mock surprise on her face, “You _haven’t_? Are you certain? Sweet Mother I’ve made a _mistake_ …” she says nastily, sneering at Dany, “You stupid little _fool_ …has the human blood in you muddled your thoughts so terribly? You’re not more than an echo of what you could have been. How do you think you brought those dragons back from the dead?”

That left a question in her mind she couldn’t answer. She never really understood how she did it; she just knew that she had. “I don’t understand…” Dany replies.

“Of course you don’t,” the woman smiles sickly sweet, “You’re _human_ now. I doubt you’ve got enough of the blood left in you to conjure so much as a flame.”

“Enough,” Dany snaps, “I demand you leave my kingdom. Let us stop this senseless violence and reason with one another.”

“Oh it’s not senseless,” the woman smiles, “It’s completely understandable. You just don’t understand.”

When Dany says nothing she turns to go, pausing only to add, “You have until the moon is at its fullest in the sky…and then I will tear your kingdom apart and kill anyone I find. I will purify the world and make it ours again….” She smiles bitterly sweet at Sansa, her gaze upon the dragon behind her, “Even dragons can burn.”

Then she was gone….and Dany knew for certain in that moment that they were all in way over their head.

 


	100. Chapter 100

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

“No,” Sansa corrects Gyan gently, “Not like that Gyan. If you dance that way you’ll step on your partner’s toes.” She stands, motioning for the dance instructor to return to first position. “Now then,” Sansa says, “Watch me Gyan.” The instructor places one hand on her waist, the other extends out flat, palm up. Sansa places her hand atop the palm and the instructors leads her in a turn around the room. When they finished Sansa motions for Gyan to try.

“I was dancing the part of the lady,” Sansa reminds him, “You will lead the lady in the dance. Your hand goes on her waist; your other hand will be out stretched and waiting for hers.”

“Please don’t make me,” Aenys says with a sour expression as he watches Gyan practice, “I don’t want to dance with _girls_ , Aunt.”

“Lady Alyssa will be at the spring banquet,” Sansa reminds him gently, “You’ll be expected to dance with her. Do you want to make a fool of yourself in front of her?”

“I don’t want to dance with her,” he scowls, “She’s always fretting about her gown and she won’t play swords with me.”

“She’s a lady, Aenys,” Sansa laughs a little, “She’s not going to play swords with you.”

“Mother would,” Aenys tells her, “When she’s here.”

Visenya was keen to play swords with him any time he asked if it meant she could get the boy to go outside and practice. Naturally it doesn’t surprise Sansa one bit that Visenya’s played swords with him. “Your Mother will be there too,” Sansa points out, “What if she wants to dance with her son? You could end up stepping on the Queen’s toes.”

Aenys sighs heavily and gets up, giving her an irritated glance as he joins in on the practicing. He was more of a book reading sort of child, one who didn’t care for swords or battle and was more interested in wild adventures he could read about.

“I don’t mind dancing with women,” Aegon’s voice chimes in as he checks in on them, catching Sansa by the hand and twirling her across the room with a grin. Sansa laughs, turns right into him and the two link hands as they join into the dance with the others. Aenys looks on, one eyebrow quirked and entirely skeptical. “If I can do it Aenys,” Aegon tells him, “Then you can too.”

Sansa steps away from Aegon, giggling when he bows his head and kisses her hand. He was such a silly sort of man when he wasn’t always worried about the watchful eyes of onlookers. It wasn’t easy being King; you couldn’t just be yourself all the time. You had to appear strong and stern and unyielding. “See?” Sansa grins at Aenys, “Easy.”

“I was just checking in to see how Aenys was doing,” Aegon murmurs near Sansa’s ear as they watch Aenys and Gyan practice, “Aenys was obstinate about dancing even with Rhaenys.”

“He’s doing well,” Sansa reassures him, “He just needs a little encouragement is all.”

Aegon nods, “I need to head down to the village, Orys will be arriving by ship and I wanted to be there when he arrived.”

Nodding she watches him go, followed out by members of the Kingsguard. Lately Visenya’s been keeping a few of them at Dragonstone for Aegon’s protection. Dorne has been terribly quite lately, and it unsettled her.

“Like this?” Gyan calls to Sansa, a hopeful glimmer in his eyes.

“Yes,” Sansa smiles brightly, “Just like that Gyan,” she tells him approvingly, “Mind her toes now, and raise your arm up a bit higher so you won’t run her arm up her back when you spin her.”

 

* * *

 

Later that day the books Aegon sent for from the citadel arrived. Sansa received them gratefully while Aegon took Orys up to his study to conduct matters of the realm.  One book in particular was curious to Sansa, it was more like a worn out journal, battered by time but still intact. She leafs through the delicate, brittle pages and reads what is written in faded ink.

 

_My name is Erreg, King of the Riverlands. What is written here forthwith shall be the recordings of my people and there doings therein in the battle against the children…._

It fades out, and Sansa has to skip a few more pages to find more.

_I have found their heart, deep beneath the ground. The ring of trees must come down, it is their power source. I have found written in the texts of Archmaester Dunnen and his travels as a youth that there are other trees like it beyond these lands. Trees that are similar but not the same. Each is a power source, each is different but similar….if we destroy the trees we can finally be rid of them…._

The trees, she knew they were significant. She has never felt stronger than when she sits beneath the branches of a weirwood tree. If there were other trees beyond Westeros, did that mean other children existed beyond Westeros? He said the trees were different, which meant they might represent something different. The children were of the forest, the Ice people were of the Ice….maybe they were one race of beings, but from different kingdoms? Like how Westeros had seven kingdoms, maybe the children were one kingdom, the Ice people another, the Firewalkers yet another and so on and so forth…There were even stories from long ago about people who lived in the sea. There was that great odd looking chair that was found near where the Greyjoys lived and nobody ever managed to explain it…

 

_“I will make them all go away Daeyra,” Haessa tells her quietly, “I will make them all pay.”_

 

The image flashes behind her eyes like the most vivid memory. She could recall the heat upon her face and the warm breeze in her hair. The manic look in Haessa’s eyes, the facet of color twisting there like a constellation of stars….

“That’s it,” Sansa says aloud, staring at the book before her.

Haessa wasn’t a white walker or a fire walker, she was dragon kin. She was changing shape to lead the different kingdoms of kin against the human race.  It was all starting to make sense now, the way something would only make sense when you had tiny little pieces and you needed to step a ways back to see the bigger picture. The children, like the fire walkers and the dragon kin and the ice people were all usurped of their homes at one point or another. Slaughtered and killed by mankind, but that didn’t answer why Haessa suddenly wanted to start a war against the humans. Did she have a personal grudge of some sort?

Now that she was certain what Haessa was up to, she needed to find the key. Yet now the tables have turned. Did the child who sent the key away know that Haessa wasn’t a white walker? If he didn’t, he’d send it somewhere winter could never touch. If he did…well, it could be _anywhere._

“Your highness,” Orys smiles as he passes by the open doors of the library. Sansa looks up, blinking at the fading light of the afternoon. How long had she been in here?

“My lord,” Sansa smiles brightly at Orys, “It’s good to see you again.”

“And you your highness,” he smiles at her though for some reason there was something odd in his eyes, something calculating. It was like he was debating an answer he wasn’t sure of. He almost looked _worried_. “I’d best be going,” he tells her after a pause, “Much to do.”

Nodding Sansa smiles, “Safe journeys my lord.”

When he’s gone she frowns at his retreating back. He was staring at her oddly, like he wasn’t sure what to make of her. With a sigh, she shuts the book she was reading and heads down for dinner. Maybe Orys was just having a rough day.

 

* * *

 

At dinner Aegon is awfully quiet. Quirking an eyebrow at Aenys she gestures subtly towards his Father. Aenys shrugs and stares at his plate. Gyan seems to take in the whole situation and asks without preamble, “Your grace, I believe Princess Sansa has something to ask you.”

Aegon’s lilac gaze snaps up to her face and Sansa blushes bright red. “I was only going to ask if the food was to your liking…” Sansa lies quickly, hoping he won’t notice.

“Its fine,” he replies evenly, his gaze shifting between Gyan and Sansa with a tiny smirk hidden in the right corner of his mouth.

Later on, she needed to explain the art of _tact_ to Gyan.

“Sansa,” Aegon asks, “did you have something else to ask me?”

How does he _always_ know!?

“How was your meeting with Orys?” Sansa asks, trying to change the subject.

“It went well,” he replies and then adds under his breath, “or as well as it could be I suppose.”

“Is something wrong?” Sansa frowns at him.

“No,” he smiles faintly at her, “nothing for you to worry about.”

Sansa nods as she finishes her plate and sets it aside, sipping from the last of the apple wine that Highgarden had sent over to them. They’d been over adamant about giving them apples and apple wine ever since Sansa had mentioned her and Aegon’s preference for them.

 

* * *

 

After dinner Sansa retires to the Northern wing. Gyan’s rooms were there now as she had spare two or three rooms she hadn’t decorated yet. So she gave him one of them and had it decorated in a manner that he liked. Once she was certain he was in bed and asleep she retired down the hall and across to her own bed chambers. The whole wing was connected like a giant old fashioned key. One long hall connected her bed chambers to the main hall, Gyan’s room, one spare room and the stares that led up to the tower. Shutting the doors that connected the main hall to the pathway to her own bed chambers she continues on her journey, shutting her bedroom doors behind her once she reaches them.

She baths and then dresses in a clean set of small clothes, before climbing into bed and blowing out the candles.  As she stares at the ceiling she wonders quietly where Haessa was. Why did Haessa decide to start a war with mankind? Something terrible must have happened…something _awful_ ….

 

_The sun is warm on her skin as she lies back in the grass beside her brother. Vamon’s face is a mask of contemplation as he stares up at the bright blue sky._

_“What are you thinking about?” she asks him softly._

_“Velya,” he replies, “she is the oldest of the dragons here, and I fear she won’t leave behind any eggs before she dies.”_

_“Brother,” she sighs softly, “do you think the dragons will die out with her?”_

_“The true dragons at least,” Vamon says quietly. He stiffens when he hears her cry, and turns on his side to look at her. “Don’t cry Daeyra, please don’t. Aelarr would kill me if he knew I’d made you cry.”_

_She sniffles a little, blinking the tears from her eyes, “Our brother wouldn’t hurt you and you know it,” she smiles a little through her tears, “I just don’t want Velya to die.”_

_“Hush,” Vamon tells her softly, brushing the silver gold curls away from her face, “Don’t cry Daeyra.” He turns over and plucks something from the grass and then rolls back over to face her, smiling as he dangles the bright orange summer blossom above her face. She smiles up at him, taking the flower from him and inhaling the sweet fragrance. “There your favorite,” Vamon tells her._

_“I know that silly,” she smiles up at him, sliding the soft petals of the flower along his cheek, “You always bring me flowers.”_

_“Someone has too,” he grins down at her, “Aelarr hasn’t a clue. Women_ love _flowers.”_

There is a persistent knocking sound echoing from somewhere outside the dream. Sansa blinks awake, blurry eyed and groggy as she sits up in the dark. It has to be near midnight at least. She gets up, pulling on her dressing gown and swinging the long auburn braid of hair over one shoulder before she opens her bed chamber doors to find Aegon standing there.

“Aegon?” Sansa blinks up at him sleepily, “Aegon what is it?”

“I’m sorry,” he says as he looks down at her with a sigh, “I shouldn’t have woken you, it can wait.”

“No,” Sansa says, as she places a delicate hand on his arm, “Tell me.”

Aegon looks at her and then takes her hand in his, “Walk with me.”

 

* * *

 

They walk through the courtyard together in silence until they reach the dragon stairs where they sit and stare at the sea. The moon is full and bright, shimmering down upon the sea below and twinkling like a thousand stars. The wind has a chill to it but Sansa doesn’t mind, she grew up in Winterfell after all. Aegon sits beside her, staring down at the sea in silence and she can’t help but wonder if he couldn’t sleep and just wanted someone to keep him company.

“I want to begin,” Aegon says softly, “With a few reasons I need you to hear. Hear me out before you say anything.”

“Alright,” Sansa says softly, “I’m listening.”

Nodding, Aegon begins, “I’ve given you a home here, and I’ve made you my sister and a Princess. You are vital to my family now, Aenys loves you and you’ve done so much for Visenya and I over the past year. I’ve spent…quite a while trying to figure out how to explain this to you. I want to make it simple however….I know that you worry that one day eventually you’ll have to marry again. I know that one day, I won’t be here anymore and you’ll be alone. What I want is to help you resolve those two issues completely.”

Curious, Sansa says nothing. He seems to be struggling with this, like he’s spent a while trying to work out what to say and now nothing seems to be coming out the way he’d planned it too.

“I want you to consider marrying me. If you did, it would mean you’d never have to fear another vying for your hand. You’d be free to live in peace. I know you don’t ever want to marry again, and if you married me you’d never have to worry about it, you’d be free. Also I know that I won’t always be here. I want to know that when I die you are safe and protected…if you’re the Queen you’ll be well off when I pass. You would have a secure home here, you and Visenya would want for nothing. Now, if we wed I would ask nothing of you. Nothing would change, we’d appear as a wedded couple in public but behind closed doors we’d be exactly the same. I would never press you for anything you did not want to give.”

_Marry him?_

It did make sense she supposed. Half of Westeros already believed they were having an affair. It probably wouldn’t surprise them if she and Aegon got married. If she married him, it would mean she’d never have to fear another man trying to ask Aegon for her hand. It would also mean wouldn't have to fend suitors off anymore. There were only so many times one could do that before people started to get suspicious. It was uncommon for a woman her age to be unwed. If she married him, she would be free to live as she wanted too. When she was older, and Aegon passed she would be safe and well protected behind the walls of Dragonstone. The only downside to that is she’d be stuck with Visenya, but she’d just have to tolerate _that_.

When she says nothing Aegon adds, “We wouldn’t be able to marry in the sept of course. I’ve already been married twice and I doubt the high septon would be very pleased if I requested him to marry us. We’ll have to marry in the way of my people, an ancient Valyrian ceremony.”

Sansa turns her gaze to his handsome face, his lilac eyes bright in the moonlight as he looks at her. He was good to her, he cared about her. He would protect her with his life, and give her a roof over her head. He wanted to help her find the key and save her family. If she ever married again, this man was someone Oberyn would approve of.

“Alright,” Sansa says softly as she looks at him, “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

He grins at her, a glitter of relief in his eyes, “Alright.”

“Alright,” Sansa replies, smiling back at him.

“I’ll have Visenya do the ceremony,” he tells her softly, “We could do it tomorrow….next week…whenever you want.”

Sansa takes a deep breath and stares out at the sea thoughtfully, “Visenya is in Kings Landing. I don’t want her to rush out here….we can do it in a few days if you like, give her time to get here and relax.”

He nods, his hand sliding into hers. The warmth of his skin warmed her fingers, and she couldn’t help but lean closer to him, he practically radiated warmth like a real dragon would. “She can help you with the ceremonial vows too.”

Sansa nods, quiet and peace for a little while, “Why was Orys acting so odd today?”

“He knows,” Aegon admits softly, “I told him what I planned to do. He agreed to it, though he thought the sept might throw a fit about it. My people practiced this sort of thing for centuries though, it may be uncommon here but where my family is from its quite normal.”

 “You’d be surprised how many times your family will use that over the centuries,” Sansa smiles faintly at him, “Oh so many times.”

He laughs and nods but says nothing, his gaze still out on the sea. For some bizarre reason she wants to kiss him. It wasn’t love per say, but a sort of tenderness for him. She doubted she could love another as she loved Oberyn, but perhaps she was capable of tenderness. Whatever it was, it pressed her to slide her hand long his cheek and turn his head so that he was looking at her. Tentatively she leaned over and tipped her chin up so she could press her lips softly against his, a gentle chaste kiss. Then she smiles up at him, the moonlight in her hair and bright in her blue eyes, “Thank you Aegon…you’ve been so good to me. I’m so glad and so lucky to know such a good man as you.”

Then she stands and climbs the stairs, the sweet taste of him still on her lips as he watches her retreating back with a mixture of surprise and warmth dancing in his eyes.

 

 


	101. Chapter 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

_I’m getting married again. I really never thought I would after Oberyn died. Of course though we’d be married we wouldn’t be for true unless I wanted it. Aegon promised me that, and I’m grateful to him for it. This marriage would both protect me and give me my freedom…_

Glancing up, Sansa sets the quill down as she hears the knock on her bed chamber door. Visenya appears a moment later, leaning against the door frame and regarding her thoughtfully. “Still writing in that journal are you?”

“Yes,” Sansa replies as she meets Visenya’s gaze, “When did you get here?”

“Last night,” Visenya replies evenly, “I arrived late after everyone was in bed.”

“Do they all know?” Sansa replies quietly, worriedly.

“Yes,” Visenya answers, “They know. Aegon made the announcement during court the other morning. He never goes, so they all knew _something_ was up obviously.”

“Is it bad?” Sansa asks her, frowning.

“No,” Visenya stretches as she steps further into the room before dropping down into a chair by the window, “and yes. The nobles are gossiping, the sept is protesting and Dorne, oddly enough after such long silence is now making a fuss. You’re Princess Regent, however little control you might have over Dorne and you’re marrying Aegon. That would _technically_ make Dorne a part of the six kingdoms however he is only your consort on Dornish soil and not the Prince, something I’ve had to remind them on numerous occasions.”

“We’re not even marrying in the sept,” Sansa says with a sigh of frustration, “and the nobles gossip regardless. My marrying Aegon isn’t going to affect Dorne in the slightest; I think their just irritated at the notion of being part of the six kingdoms by default. I’ll have to remind the nobles that this doesn’t affect the negotiations we settled upon and that Dorne is still its own separate kingdom.”

Nodding Visenya replies, “We have a week to get you ready. I need to teach you the ceremony and the vows. We’ll need dragon fire and white silk cording. You of course are free to pick any gown you want to wear or have one made. I’ve already sent for a coronet to be brought up. We don’t need the sept to crown you, Aegon can do that himself. He was _officially_ crowned in the sept, but Rhaenys and I weren’t. It had something to do with our traditions naturally.” Visenya pauses for a beat to glance out the window at the sound of dragon cries, a shadow swooping low over the land before disappearing, “Aegon’s out there with Aenys practicing. It makes me a bit nervous really; Aenys isn’t quite strong enough yet to control Balarion. I can hardly control him; he’s very old and very strong. You have to have the strength to hold the reins otherwise the moment he turns his head he’ll rip them right out of your hands. Anyways, I also wanted to let you know that since you’re now my brother’s betrothed officially, and you’re going to be Queen as well, you might as well start pulling your own weight around here.”

“And do what exactly?” Sansa asks tentatively, unsure where Visenya was going with this.

“Seeing as I’m busy with affairs of the realm in Kings Landing, I’m handing all the preparations for the Spring Banquet over to you.”

“That’s in three months time,” Sansa raises her eyebrows at Visenya, “you want me to pull together an entire banquet including all high houses and the meal plan, the invitations, the decorations, and the entertainment…in _three months_?”

“Oh it’s not that bad,” Visenya waves her off, “I’ve already booked the entertainment.”

“Which leaves everything else,” Sansa sighs heavily, “Alright.”

Nodding Visenya stands, “I’m going out to practice with Aenys for a while. He’s finally starting to warm up to the idea of a sword I think. Let’s meet in an hour to practice the ceremony.”

“Sounds good,” Sansa says, rolling off her bed to stand. “Where’s Maegor?”

“I’ve left him in Kings Landing. He doesn’t care very much for Dragonstone.”

“Is….he alright with me marrying his Father?” Sansa asks tentatively.

“He doesn’t care really,” Visenya shrugs, “I doubt Aenys does either. They’re used to having two mothers, so this isn’t going to be anything new to them. Aenys likes you, so that’s good I suppose.”

“Do _you_ mind?” Sansa asks after a pause.

Visenya smiles faintly at her, “I don’t,” she shakes her head, “You’re good for Aegon.” She turns and leaves then, and Sansa watches her go curiously. Sometimes she wondered what was really going on in Visenya’s head.

 

* * *

 

“Stop _fidgeting_ ,” Visenya scowls at Sansa, “If that had been properly lit, your arm would be on fire right now.”

Sansa stood on beach by the sea where the ceremony was being set up. She had her arms outstretched over a great metal pot in which later on would contain dragon fire. The trick was, she had to keep her arms on either side of the pot without burning herself or Aegon. There arms would be bound to each other, him standing across from her on the other side and tied by a silk white cord, symbolizing unity and connection. With a deep breath she glowers at Visenya and repeats the vows in high Valyrian, “ _To you I am bound, in this life and the next.”_

“The dragon fire symbolizes an unbreakable bond,” Visenya tells her, “the white cord represents your connection to Aegon. It means that the two of you are now one, inseparable. A bond so strong that even dragon fire cannot destroy it.”

Nodding, Sansa replies, “So I say the words, you say the words…and we’re married?”

“Pretty much,” Visenya replies, “The ceremony is short and simple. He acknowledges you, you acknowledge him, and I ask if the two of you desire to be bound together. You both say that you do, and then you say the words.”

Well, it was simple enough. After the ceremony they were going to have a family dinner together, Orys Baratheon and his family were going to be at the ceremony as Aegon and Orys are good friends. Then in the following weeks, Sansa would go to Kings Landing and be presented at court for the first time as their Queen. She would even sit the Iron throne…something she wasn’t sure about.

How many people has she seen die trying to sit on that terribly uncomfortable looking chair? It was ridiculous really, and now here she was….she was going to be _Queen_. The funny thing about it was, she beat Margarey to it, she beat Cersei to it, and she beat just about anyone from her own time period to it.

“So,” Sansa asks after a pause, “Aegon’s going to crown me?”

“Yes,” Visenya replies evenly, “After the ceremony you’ll kneel before him and he’ll crown you his Queen. Orys will be there to witness as will I.” She sighs, turning her gaze out to the sea for a beat before looking at Sansa, “Alright, we need to go over the proceedings for the coronation. Kneel.”

Blinking, Sansa drops neatly down onto her knees in the sand, careful to keep her skirts unwrinkled. Visenya looms over her and asks, “Do you Princess Sansa of House Targaryen, swear to uphold the laws and responsibilities laid before you as Queen of the Six Kingdoms and protector of the realm?”

“I do,” Sansa replies evenly.

“And then Aegon would crown you,” Visenya tells her, “Good enough. You’ve got a handle on this…I’m going back up to the castle.”

Sansa stands, dusting the sand off her skirts before she follows Visenya back up the dragon stairs.  She hardly makes it to the courtyard when Aenys finds her, his silver golden hair a wild tangle of knots. He and his Father had clearly just returned from flying on Balarion.  “Did you see me?”

“I did,” Sansa grins down at him as the two walk further into the courtyard where Aegon is talking with Visenya. His silver golden curls are wind-blown as well, giving him a wild sort of look. He smiles when they approach, Visenya turning away from him and heading back into the keep.

“It’s good you’re here,” Aegon tells Sansa, “I have something for you.”

“Oh?” Sansa quirks an eyebrow.

He grins and nods “Come, let’s go to my study.”

 

* * *

 

Inside his study Sansa sits and watches him rummage through an ornate wooden cabinet behind his desk. Inside were a number of different things, one being his own crown made of Valyrian steel and rubies, a few odds and ends and trinkets, some old looking books and a small onyx colored marble box which he sets on his desk and opens. “This belonged to my Mother,” he tells her softly, “It’s passed on to every Targaryen wife.” From the box he pulls a silver cloth, within it was a ring.

A very familiar looking ring.

Sansa tried not to gap at it, the Valyrian steel setting, the bright red ruby, the high Valyrian etched into the band work. It was the same ring she’d found at the Water Gardens years ago when she first married Oberyn. Which meant that one day most likely Mariah Martell would be wearing it….it was the only explanation as to how it could have gotten into the Water Gardens.

“Would you like me to…” he motions to her hand before he adds, “Or you could…”

“Oh,” Sansa blushes, feeling ridiculous. She’d spent so long staring at that ring she hadn’t realized he was waiting to put it on.  Extending her left hand out he gently slides it onto her ring finger. It fits snugly, enough that she doesn’t need to worry about it falling off.  He’s quiet long enough for her to realize he’s waiting to see if she likes it. “It’s beautiful Aegon,” Sansa smiles reassuringly up at him as she gazes down at the ring on her finger.

“I’m glad you like it,” he says after a pause, watching her watch him. 

She stands, smiling softly in the afternoon sunlight. The awkward silence seems to stretch on and on. He’s facing her, staring at the ring on her finger and she’s staring at his chest, at the red embroidered dragons weaved into the black velvet of his jerkin. They hadn’t really been alone like this since she kissed him. 

“Visenya’s been teaching you the ceremony?” Aegon asks, just to break the sudden silence.

“Yes,” Sansa takes the chance and runs with it. She’d rather just avoid this awkward silence. He kept staring at her like he wanted to say something but neither of them would utter a word.

“Good,” Aegon nods, “very good.”

“I’ve been practicing too,” Sansa says softly, “With the bow you gave me…I actually hit the apple this morning.”

“That’s good,” Aegon smiles, “You’ll get good enough to hit it from the back of a dragon one day too.”

More silence….

“Well,” Sansa says softly, “I think I should probably get some work done. Visenya’s handed the preparations for the spring banquet over to me.”

“Oh?” Aegon quirks an eyebrow and nods thoughtfully as he turns to sit behind his desk, “You should feel honored,” he smirks a little, “Visenya usually never wants to give that up.”

Sansa grins a little, “It’s going to be interesting, that’s for sure.” She turns to go, her hand on the door handle when Aegon’s voice stops her.

“Are you….” He sighs, “I hope you don’t feel obligated…or….what I mean to say is…”

“I don’t regret it,” Sansa says softly, “I wanted to kiss you.”

“Oh,” Aegon blinks at her. “Oh…well…I just want you to know I don’t expect anything of you that you’re not willing to give me.”

Sansa nods, “I hope I haven’t overstepped.”

“No,” Aegon tells her, “No you haven’t.”

“So…” Sansa pauses, her eyes on the wood grain of the door as she debates what she will say next. She liked Aegon, but she wasn’t quite in love with him. Yet there was tenderness there. “I could kiss you again?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitation and it surprises her. She quietly wonders if he’s been dwelling on the idea of it too. “Only if you want to of course.”

Sansa nods, she can feel his gaze burning into her back. Her hand stills rests on the door handle, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Aegon frowns curiously at her.

“For giving me a choice,” Sansa says softly.

 

* * *

 

**Present Day**

 

Tyrion Lannister has faced many mysteries in his life. He’s solved them too, with extensive research, a little bit of luck and a sharp mind. Yet Sansa Stark has left no evidence of the key, and no way to find it. The others have long gone to bed, Arya Stark returned to the boat where the remainder of her family were, Aegon with the help of Jon limped his way up to his own bed chambers in the royal wing of the red keep, and Jon himself slept in a red velvet lounge across the room. Tyrion usually kept odd hours anyways, reading well into the morning before he finally went to bed.

“Where did you put it?” Tyrion murmurs aloud to himself thoughtfully. He was staring at an image of Sansa beside Aegon, and he notes that on her hand was a ring she’d given him ages ago. He’d almost forgotten it…

No, not the ring.

The ring wasn’t a clue, but probably a token from her life with the conqueror. It had to be something permanent, something that wouldn’t wither and age with time. The only thing he could think of that could survive the ages was Valyrian steel. It did not age with time, and that led him to believe that surely the key wherever it was, must be made of it.

Or so he guessed….it was only a guess after all. For all he knew it could be made of some mystical metal he’s never heard of, or the key might not even be a key at all…it was just _called_ a key.

A sharp noise in the distance startles him and his gazes snaps up to the door, something shrouded and shadowed was limping its way through the library doors…

“ _Jon_!” Tyrion’s sharp voice startles the younger man awake.

Blurry eyed and half-awake Jon jumps to his feet, not entirely sure what’s happening but ready for anything. His eyes snap to the shrouded thing limping into the room. “ _Stop_ ,” Jon commands firmly, “Who are you?”

“Somebody you’re going to be grateful to have I suppose,” laughs a tired voice as the creature pulls back its hood. He wasn’t so much a creature as a man. A short, stout man who was balding, pale wisps of hair clinging to his head. “Jon Snow,” he breathes as he looks up him, “you look just like your Mother.”

“Who are you?” Jon frowns, watching the man curiously.

“My name,” he begins as his gaze shifts between Tyrion and Jon, “is Howland Reed, and I’ve brought you something my family’s been holding on to for _centuries_.”

“Please tell me it has something to do with a map,” Tyrion sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “mayhaps a letter, directions….something that involves a _key_.”

“No,” Howland tells them, “more like a _word_.”

“A _word_?” Tyrion looks at him skeptically.

“Yes,” Howland says, limping his way towards Tyrion, “My family was entrusted with this word since Aegon the Conqueror himself. It was given to us by royal decree; we were commanded to hide it and only reveal this word when the white walkers returned.” Howland laughs a little, leaning heavily on a thick wooden crutch that looked as if he’d just picked it up on the side of the road and whittled it down to be useable.

“Alright,” Jon says, “What word?”

“Balarion,” Howland says and shifts his gaze between them expectantly, “ _Well_? My family’s been waiting three hundred years to find out what that means…. _so what does it mean_?”

“She didn’t leave something for you?” Jon frowns at him, “Not a letter or a token….”

“She?” Howland looks at him curiously, “We were given it by the conqueror himself.”

“Well they had the _swords_ ,” Tyrion says dryly, “why not a three hundred year old message from a famous dead Targaryen King?”

“Balarion,” Jon reiterates, “What does that mean?”

Tyrion taps his chin thoughtfully, “Balarion’s been dead a long time…but….” He looks suddenly as if a notion he hadn’t considered before has struck him, “Dragon bone doesn’t _age_.” Tyrion gets to his feet, “Jon, we need to visit the skull of Balarion.”

 

* * *

 

**Present Day**

 

The throne room is dark save for the glittering moonlight shining through the high mosaic glass windows. Jon holds up a torch as they go, the only sound echoing in the surrounding darkness is Howland Reed’s crutch. The skull of Balarion rests near the dais upon which the Iron Throne rests. It shimmers in the darkness an unsettling starlit white against the moonlight.

Jon holds the torchlight up to the gigantic skull; it stood taller than even him. He could have easily walked right into the mouth of the skull without having to bend over at all. Cautiously he steps in, holding the torch up to inspect the inside of the mouth while Tyrion grabs another torch to inspect the outside. The two of them search every inch for at least twenty minutes.

“Anything?” Tyrion calls.

“No,” Jon sighs, defeated. He turns to step out and notices something in the flicker of the torchlight. It was vague and very old, nearly rubbed away by polishing and time. “Hang on,” he calls, “I think I’ve found something.”

It was an image carved into the bone. Jon follows it with his finger, squinting into the darkness as Tyrion and Howland walk up beside him. “It’s a map,” Jon says aloud, “It looks like the Red Keep.”

“Well,” Tyrion says, “What’s it say?”

“We need to go down below the keep itself,” Jon tells Tyrion, “It’s _here_ ,” Jon breaths allowed, “It’s here in the throne room.”

“ _Where_?” Tyrion asks pointedly.

Frowning Jon looks down at Tyrion, “I think it’s _under_ the iron throne.”

“How are we going to get it out from under that bloody great monstrosity?” Howland scowls.

“ _You_ ,” Tyrion says, “don’t even know what we’re looking for,” and then he turns to Jon, “and _you_ ….your reading it wrong, you must be.”

“I’m not reading it---…” Jon cuts off as Tyrion pushes him aside.

Tyrion raises the torch and squints up at the map, frowning in thought, “It’s _beneath_ the throne, not directly under it.”

“So…is there another level beneath the throne room?” Jon frowns.

“Not that I know of,” Tyrion replies, “but there might be one that nobody knows about, something when the conqueror was building the Red Keep had included intentionally and left off any design plans. He had hundreds of secret doors and rooms built into this keep. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’d built an entire room beneath the throne room to hide something.”

“Then let’s find it.” Jon tells Tyrion pointedly.

 

* * *

 

 

**Present Day**

 

They clamber through the bowls of the Red Keep, deep in the parts that are abandoned and unused. There is dust and cobwebs everywhere, the air tastes stale with time and disuse. Tyrion squints into the dark tunnels, Jon in the middle and Howland bringing up the back. They have to feel their way down the tunnels, their hands sliding along the narrow stone walls.

“We’re looking for a hidden room beneath the Iron throne,” Tyrion says aloud, “If I we’re hiding something of incalculable value…where would I put it? Beneath the Iron Throne of course….but it would have to survive three hundred years….so I can’t risk anyone finding it.”

“So she buries it beneath the keep,” Jon replies, “but _where_?”

“That map didn’t give you any clues?” Howland frowns.

“Not really,” Jon replies, “It pointed beneath the throne.”

“I have a very bad feeling about this,” Tyrion frowns, “They were doing renovations down here…the Queen’s been digging around for ages looking for Targaryen relics.” They reach the end of the hall where they find thick wooden door standing ajar. Holding up the torchlight they find a wide stone square room. “This is it,” Tyrion says, “This is directly beneath the throne room.”

Jon raises the torch in his hands and steps further into the room. There was nothing but dust and cobwebs…

“Well,” Tyrion says after a long pause as he regards the empty room, his mind turning back to months past when he  spent all his days in the library sorting things brought up from the lower levels.  “I think I know where it is.”

“Even if we find all that stuff,” Howland says, “we still don’t know what it looks like.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not going to give it my best guess,” Tyrion points out as he motions for Howland and Jon to follow him, “Come on, I know where it is.”

 

 

 


	102. Chapter 102

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

“ _Almost done_ ,” Visenya says in a sing song voice, twisting the braid atop Sansa’s head into place and pining it there. “It's a good thing we started early,” Visenya tells her, “Your hair is being particularly stubborn today.”

Sansa winces as she digs yet another clip into her hair. Her hair looked lovely like this, but the clips were making her scalp ache. Usually her hand maidens do this sort of work but Visenya insisted. It made her a little suspicious; it made her wonder what Visenya was up to.

“Why are you doing my hair anyways?” Sansa asks outright.

“Don’t you want to look beautiful for your wedding day?” Visenya quirks an eyebrow, “I’m better at this then your handmaiden is. I used to do Rhaenys’s hair all the time when we were children.”

“Well of course I do,” Sansa winces as she sets another clip in place, “but not at the expense of my hair being ripped out at the roots.”

“The braids make you look _elegant_ ,” Visenya tells her, “and we’ll curl these bits,” she tells her, holding out the long locks of hair left hanging down near her temples, “it’ll look lovely. When Aegon puts the coronet on, it’ll sit well in your hair too.”

The gown Sansa was wearing was something she already owned, it was soft and flowing, made of silk and the color of cream. The clips in her hair were diamonds, something Sansa had never owned in her life.

“There,” Visenya sighs in relief, her gaze approving as she looks at Sansa in the mirror, “all done.”

“It’s lovely,” Sansa replies as Visenya curls the locks of hair near her temple, “Thank you.”

Visenya nods, “I need to go get ready. We’ll be meeting on the beach in an hour. The groom and the bride must always come to the ceremony alone and of their own volition.”

Sansa nods, remembering what Visenya taught her, “Alright.”

She watches Visenya leave thoughtfully. There were so many rules to a Valyrian wedding. The groom and the bride would arrive alone separately. The groom is the one to traditionally light the fire, signaling the bride to join him. Then they would meet before the one proceeding over the ceremony. Balarion was down on the beach now, and when Sansa sees the fire burning on the beach that is the signal for her that it’s time.

Now it was just the waiting game.

Aegon would be the one to light the fire, and then it would be her choice to join him. With a sigh she glances towards the windows of her bed chamber, watching the beach down below. Balarion was settled down by the shoreline, his wings fluttering in the breeze. The sun is setting in the distance and it makes her think of Oberyn. Oberyn would approve of Aegon, she thinks to herself. He wanted her to move on and be happy, and she was happy. She didn’t love Aegon, but he made her feel safe and he was good to her. They were good friends; they could have a good marriage. It wasn’t like this was going to be the real thing, they’d be married but nothing was going to change.

There _was_ that tenderness though…

That odd feeling in the pit of her stomach, the nervous fluttering when they laugh and talk. Those moments when she feels warm and safe beside him. She couldn’t quite explain it, but she knew it was there.

Standing she paces the room, chewing on the pad of her thumb thoughtfully. The darkness was steadily blanketing the world outside, and soon the fire would be lit. She wondered how he felt about this. Was he conflicted too? Did he think of Rhaenys like she thought of Oberyn? She could never replace Rhaenys just as he could never replace Oberyn. They would face one another as they are, Sansa Stark and Aegon Targaryen.

Sudden a glimmer of light gleams from the window. She steps closer to window, peering down at the beach. Balarion blazes with light as he lights the fire. 

It was time.

 

* * *

 

Walking through the keep it’s silent and empty. Everyone has gone down to the beach. She makes her way out into the courtyard and then around to the dragon stairs. She can see them down below, all lining the walkway towards the fire. Orys and his wife along with his children were down there, so was Aenys and Maegor. Visenya had gone to fetch him during the week, as this was a family occasion. She was trembling and she knew it as she steadily took each step one at a time, holding her skirts up just enough so she wouldn’t trip on them. Aegon was standing to the right of the fire facing the dragon stairs, Visenya just behind him in the center before the flames. He was looking up at her, watching her descend the stairs slowly. They were all watching her to be honest, and she had to swallow her nervousness and keep going.  At the bottom of the stairs she steadily walks across the beach towards them and down the black silk rug embossed with flaming red dragons all the way up to the flames where Aegon stands. On either side of the fire stood the Targaryen sigils on wooden poles, fluttering faintly in the evening breeze. Sansa turns her gaze to them, watching the scarlet dragons dance in the shadows of the sigil before she turns her gaze to Aegon. In Valyrian, they begin the ceremony.

“ _Do you accept me, Aegon Targaryen_?”

“ _I do_ ,” Sansa replies softly, “ _Do you accept me, Sansa Targaryen_?”

“ _I do_ ,” he replies evenly and they walk towards the flames, standing side by side before Visenya.

“ _Who comes before the flames of dragon fire to be bonded_?” Visenya asks them both.

“ _We do_ ,” Sansa and Aegon reply together.

“ _And do you wish to be bound together_?” Visenya asks them.

“ _Yes_ ,” they both reply.

“ _Then stand before the fire and prepare yourself for bonding_ ,” Visenya replies as she picks up the white silk cord.

With a nervous breath Sansa calms herself enough to step beside the pot containing the fire, Aegon facing her from the other side of it. They extend their arms out to one another on either side of the fire and Visenya binds wrists and hands together in a twisting pattern with the white cord. His warm hands are soothing on her wrists. They calm her nerves, his thumb lightly rubbing the inner side of her wrist in a soothing gesture.

He can tell she’s nervous.

“ _Together you are bonded before dragon fire_ ,” Visenya tells them both.

Aegon begins first, “ _To you I am bound, in this life and the next.”_

Sansa echoes his words, _“To you I am bound, in this life and the next.”_

 _“You are now bound to one another, in this life and the next.”_ Visenya says to them both.

It was done.

Visenya gently unwraps the cords from their wrists and Sansa drops her arms by her sides, stepping away from the fire. Aegon steps around it, turning to face Orys who holds the coronet on a soft velvet pillow. Sansa turns to face him, dropping neatly onto her knees before him.

“Do you Princess Sansa of House Targaryen, swear to uphold the laws and responsibilities laid before you as Queen of the Six Kingdoms and protector of the realm?” Aegon asks, his expression serious.

“I do so solemnly swear,” Sansa replies evenly.

“Then I pronounce you Queen Sansa Targaryen, first of her name. Queen of the six kingdoms and of the Andals and the Rhoynar and of the First Men.” He gently sets the coronet upon her brow and she lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Gently, he offers his hand and she takes it, carefully standing. They turn to face the gathered crowd, her hand held delicately in his. Orys and his family kneel along with all others in attendance save Visenya.

“Your grace,” the all say together.

She was Queen.

It was a time in her life she never thought about anymore. Those days when she dreamt of being Queen. Those days were long gone, and yet now here she was, the Queen she’d always wanted to be. Aegon leads her away from the ceremony and back towards the dragon stairs, the gathering of people in tow behind them. They’d now go up to the keep and have dinner together and celebrate. The only thing Sansa dreaded was the bedding ceremony, but Aegon had promised her that nobody would be stripping her clothes off without her permission. They wouldn’t be having any bedding ceremony if it made her uncomfortable.

 

* * *

 

Back in the keep the dining hall was set up with a glorious feast. Orys and his family sit at the table with Aegon at the far end. Sansa sits to his immediate right and Visenya to his left. It was difficult to eat anything however, as she stared at her plate. She knew what would be coming along next, and she wasn’t sure how they were going to work that out. She knew he wasn’t going to ask anything of her, but they’d have to share a bed, it was their wedding night.

“So,” Orys begins as he drinks heartily from his goblet, “I hear you’ll be hosting the spring banquet?”

“I will, yes,” Sansa replies with a soft smile.

Orys nods, a grin on his face, “I do enjoy the spring banquet. It’s the lights I think, all that food and drink and laughter outside under the stars.”

“Oh you just love the tourneys,” Argella comments lightly, “Admit it.”

“I do,” Orys laughs, “I really do.” Then he glances at Aegon, “Are you participating this year?”

“I will not,” Aegon replies evenly, “I think you know I don’t care for tourneys.”

“You don’t care for parties either,” Orys grins at him, “you’ve got to lighten up Aegon, have a little fun once in a while.”

“I have plenty of fun Orys,” Aegon replies with a half-smile, “I travel, and that’s enough for me.”

“Well you’ll be coming to the spring banquet at least,” Orys sighs as he finishes his wine, “I hear the Tyrell’s are putting their eldest into the tourney, Desmor isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Aegon nods, clearly recalling what Sansa had told him of Desmor before.

“Your grace,” Argella says to Sansa, “I was wondering if you would mind my Serena joining you in Kings Landing? She could help you organize the seating list…anything you needed really.”

This was a common occurrence. Caitlyn Stark from time to time tried to put Sansa in a position to experience court life as well. Argella was doing the same for her daughter, and Sansa would do her best to help. “Of course Lady Argella.”

“Thank you, your grace,” Argella smiles brightly with a nod.

The feast concludes with sliced fruit with sweet syrup for desert. Afterwards the tables are cleared and the guests retire for the evening into the guest wing of the castle. Sansa goes ahead of Aegon on her own, trembling in the silks of her gown as she makes her way into his bed chambers. She was no blushing virgin; she’d done this sort of thing before many times with Oberyn. It wasn’t like they were going to do _that_ anyways.

She changes into her small clothes and pulls on her dressing gown, tying it neatly before he arrives. She’s just barely coming out her long auburn tresses when he steps in, spotting her by the window staring out at the sea. Another vantage point of his room was the remarkable view; it was even better then hers.

“So,” Aegon says tentatively, “We have to sleep in this room together, if we don’t they’ll think it a bit odd considering it’s our wedding night….I could sleep on the floor if you like? If it would make you more comfortable…”

“No,” Sansa shakes her head, “No that’s alright. I’ve slept next to you before anyways.”

He grins faintly, “Twice even.”

“Yes,” Sansa grins back, “Twice.”

She averts her gaze when he strips out of his formal wear and down to his small clothes. She’s only ever seen him once like that, and it was back at Casterly Rock.  He climbs into bed first and she follows suit, blowing out the candles as she goes. It’s awkward for a while, the both of them wide awake and neither quite ready to sleep yet.

“This is probably the worst wedding night ever,” Sansa says softly, a little grin curving her lips, “I’m sorry.”

“I’ve had worse,” Aegon chuckles, “Visenya made me sleep on the floor on our wedding night.”

“Well rest assured,” Sansa tells him softly, “I won’t be making you sleep on the floor.”

“What was it like, when you married Oberyn?” Aegon asks tentatively after a long pause.

“He sang to me,” Sansa tells him softly, “and we played this sort of game….the groom has to impress the bride in order to be let into the palace…and then he’s got to woo her in order to get into her bed.”

Aegon grins faintly, “Would you like me to sing to you?”

“No,” Sansa giggles softly.

“Well that’s lucky I suppose,” he replies with a laugh, “I’ve a terrible singing voice.”

“What was it like when you and Rhaenys married?” Sansa asks curiously, turning on her side to look at him.

“We married in the Valyrian way,” he replies quietly, “I still remember the flowers in her hair the day we married….she was beautiful. Afterwards we danced and danced until dawn. She loved dancing…I’d dance with her anytime she asked it of me.”

 “What do you suppose their doing down there?” Sansa asks after a while.

“Orys no doubt is wide awake and into his cups….Argella and the children have probably gone to bed. Visenya….” Aegon ponders for a moment, “is probably in my study right now _organizing_.”

“She does like a certain amount of control over everything doesn’t she?” Sansa muses with a grin.

“She means well,” Aegon shrugs, “My study is as about as neat as it could get, she can give her best go if she likes, trying to reorganize it.”

Nodding, Sansa’s mind rolls over the events of the day and finally onto a topic she’s been meaning to discuss with him, “I’ve sorted out what the witch is doing.”

“Oh?” Aegon asks, turning onto his side to look at her, “Do tell.”

With him lying like that, they’re much closer now. It makes her heart flutter for a moment, “She’s uniting them…all the different creatures. I think they’re like one race of beings….but different kingdoms.”

“Like what I did,” Aegon muses aloud, “She’s me except with a few extra bits?”

Sansa laughs, the warmth dancing in her eyes, “Yes, essentially.”

“So if I was a woman and I was uniting the many magical kingdoms, I would have to have a purpose for it. My own reasoning for uniting the seven kingdoms was simple. I was tired of the bickering and the bloodshed. What’s her reason?”

“I have no idea,” Sansa sighs aloud, “I’ve been over every inch of the dreams I’ve had of her in my head a hundred times by now. Nothing seems to clue me in as to why she’s so angry.”

“Sometimes,” Aegon says quietly, “people do things for reasons they believe are wholly justifiable. I don’t believe personally in the concept of good and evil, I believe in emotion. People go to war because they’ve been wronged. In the rebellion you spoke of, your family and the Baratheon’s turned on mine because of what my grandson did to your Grandfather and your Uncle. That would spur anyone into action honestly. While I don’t believe the brutality of what was done to my family was in any way just, I can see why the rebellion happened.”

Nodding Sansa replies, “As can I. Except…the difference between you and Haessa is that Haessa just wants to completely destroy the human race, you just wanted to conquer a few kingdoms.”

“True,” he muses, “but what would spur such hate from her?”

“I don’t know…” Sansa frowns as her blue eyes gaze up into his lilac ones, “I haven’t a clue.”

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Sansa wakes first. Beside her Aegon is snoring lightly, one arm thrown over his eyes to block the sunlight streaming in from the windows. Bizarrely enough he’s shirtless, and Sansa thinks he might have taken it off while she was sleeping. As she gazes upon him she notices the tiny white scars along his ribs and chest. Tokens of battle, Sansa thinks to herself. Her fingers lightly trail along the scars over his ribs, curiosity winning over prudence. His chest is dusted with a light layer of silver gold curls, along with the underside of his arms. Men were naturally hairy, Sansa muses to herself. Women had hair too, on their legs and under their arms as well. It occurs to her now that she hasn’t shaved in quite a while, rubbing her bare legs together beneath her small clothes she can feel the bristle of hair against her skin.

Oh _bother_.

Beside her, Aegon stirs. He rubs his face and runs his fingers through his tangled hair, turning his head to the side to look at her. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Sansa says softly as she gazes back at him.

“I apologize,” he says softly, “I had to remove my shirt at some point. If the maids come in and see us fully dressed….it will look odd.”

“I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable in sleep,” Sansa tells him, “I don’t mind. I’ve seen a man without his shirt before.”

“I’m also ticklish,” Aegon tells her, “and I was trying desperately hard not to squirm while you were inspecting me.”

Blushing, Sansa turns her gaze to the ceiling, “I’m sorry…”

He grins at her, “If you’re ticklish, I’ll find out.”

“I shan’t let my guard down for anyone to discover it,” Sansa grins back at him.

A knock at the door has them both jumping, and before Sansa can say a word Aegon swings his body over, pressing down against hers. Her mouth gaps open as she stares up at him, his bare chest against the thin linen of her small clothes, his left hand sliding up her thigh beneath the linen of her gown, his left leg pressed into the mattress between her legs while his right sits on the outside. _Trust me_ he mouths to her silently, and Sansa blushes bright red when a servant steps in, takes one look at them and turns right around and leaves immediately. “My apologies your grace!” Sansa can hear the servant calling as she goes.

 _Sweet mother…she hasn’t_ shaved _._

When the servant is gone they just stare at each other. His hand his warm on the skin of her upper thigh, but she knows he can feel the prickle of unshaved hair. “I….I…” Sansa stammers, “Um….I’m sorry….I haven’t…”

“Apologies,” he replies though he hasn’t moved his hand yet, “I had to do that…I wanted to remove all doubt that we were man and wife in every way. The servants like to gossip…”

“It’s fine,” Sansa says as they stare at each other.  It comes to her attention that her hands are on his bare chest. She quickly removes them.

They were man and wife, this wasn’t untoward. He was allowed to touch her like this; it wasn’t like they were doing anything _wrong_. He wasn’t hurting her, he was actually quite warm. If she wasn’t so startled by his sudden actions she might be keen to curl up against him. They stare at each other in silence for beat, Sansa’s blue gaze staring up into his lilac eyes. There’s warmth dancing there, warmth and light and something else.

Suddenly she wasn’t so certain they were pretending anymore.

He leans close and she knows what he means to do, and she could simply let him do it. He was giving her plenty of time to stop him, and she knew if she did he’d stop immediately. Yet she didn’t stop him, oddly enough. He tilts his head to the right, his warm breath on her lips before he presses them against hers. Heat curls through her body, it’s been so long since a man touched her like this. His tongue slides against her lips, gently asking for entrance. She allows it, his tongue sliding against hers in a heated dance. The hand resting on her thigh slides up and down in a soothing motion, and she can feel the heat burning in her cheeks every time she remembers the fact that she hasn’t shaved. She is trembling when he pulls away from her, his gaze heavy lidded as he looks down at her. She wanted this, but as she gazed up at him, she knew in her heart she was afraid. If she let herself want him, maybe even love him one day, what if she lost him like she lost Oberyn? She doubted she could handle another loss like that. It was clear that something on her face gave away her thoughts because he shifts, pulling away from her.

“Forgive me,” he says after a pause and moves away from her, the warmth of his body leaving her mourning its loss.

“You did nothing wrong,” Sansa says softly, “I’m sorry…I just…”

“Don’t apologize,” Aegon tells her, “ _I_ kissed you. It should be I who is apologizing.”

“ _No_ ,” Sansa says as she stares at the ceiling, her body was on overdrive right now and she was trying desperately to calm down, “no don’t….it was lovely…I just….”

He nods, “I understand.”

Sansa falls silent, grateful for his sharp mind. Perhaps he didn’t completely understand her reasons, but he could guess enough to back off. After a moment Aegon rolls out of bed, pulling on his linen tunic. Sansa watches him go, feeling a mixture of longing and fear. It wasn’t something she expected to feel, this sudden sharp fear. Yet she couldn’t shake it, the idea of loving someone again and then losing them as she lost Oberyn. It took so long to piece her heart back together, and now it was just barely hanging on, stitched together as neatly as she could like one of her many handkerchiefs and pillows.

“We should make an appearance before Orys leaves,” Aegon says quietly as he rings for the servants, “Breakfast should be nearly ready.”

Sansa nods, climbing out of bed and pulling on her dressing gown. She was grateful he was changing the subject, steering them cleanly away from any awkward moments. Quickly she grabs her gown and shoes, stepping around the servants as they enter to make her way down to the Northern wing for a bath. Lying like that with Aegon in bed was enough; she didn’t need to lounge naked in his bath as well.

 

* * *

 

Downstairs she meets Aegon and the others at the breakfast table after a long hot bath. She takes her seat to the right of Aegon across from Visenya, Aegon brushing his lips delicately over her knuckles in greeting. Sansa smiles and blushes, just for show. Orys is watching them, and she knows it. Granted, no doubt that servant girl has probably told anyone who would listen what she saw earlier this morning…

“You look bright eyed this morning your grace,” Orys grins weirdly at her and she tries to overlook the fact that she’s certain of what he’s thinking right then.

“Thank you,” Sansa smiles softly, filling her plate as the food is passed around.

“Orys,” Aegon says, “Before you go I was thinking we should go down to the harbor and look at that shipping export I told you about.”

Orys nods, “The Greyjoys are at it again are they?”

“Possibly,” Aegon sighs as he sips juice from a goblet, “I wouldn’t put it past them honestly.”

They eat and talk for a while before Visenya says, “I need to return to Kings Landing I think, I have a great deal of work to do.” She stands along with Maegor and the two bid everyone goodbye. When they were gone Orys and Aegon leave next, heading down to the harbor. Sansa is left alone with Aenys, Gyan and Orys’s wife and children. Suddenly she was the head of the table, and everyone was looking at her.

“Have you ever seen the village?” Sansa inquires politely of Argella.

“Only in passing,” Argella replies, “It does look lovely though.”

“Oh it is,” Sansa replies, “Shall we visit it? His grace and your husband will probably be busy for a while.”

“Oh I would love that,” Argella agrees, nodding towards her daughter and son in agreement.

And so the day begins…

 


	103. Chapter 103

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Present Day**

 

_Arya,_

_Today I will be holding court for the first time. Last week Aegon presented me to the court as his Queen, and afterwards I remained behind in Kings Landing with Gyan at my side, to observe court life and get my bearings before holding court myself. Gyan likes King’s Landing, but he thinks the Aegonfort is crude and dull. I can understand that though, after the beauty and wonder of Sunspear, the Aegonfort must look like a mud laden hovel to him. He and I have explored Kings Landing a few times, under the protection of the Kingsguard of course. It still reeks of piss, even three hundred years in the past while it’s still fairly new. Aegon’s still building the walls surrounding the city, so it’s a little weird for me to be able to see the countryside beyond._

_I tell you Arya, there’s nothing like it._

_Seeing the world differently, how it once was before the madness and insanity of the centuries. When hero’s still walked the earth and people still believed in chivalry. I wish you could be here Arya, I wish you could see it for yourself. I hope….I hope wherever you are right now, whatever you’re doing that you’re as happy as I am, and that you find someone to love you, that you (hopefully) won’t hate me for leaving you as wardeness._

_I believe in you Arya, I know you can do this._

_Sansa-_

Arya Stark stares at the journal entry, reading it over and over again. Beside her on the bed sits a stack of letters addressed to different people. Jon left a tiny metal chest for her to deal with, something Sansa must have left behind. The letters beside her were addressed to a number of different people except her. She had hoped Sansa had come up with an alternative and was writing to tell her about it. Yet half the journal entries she wrote are addressed to her, so she supposed that counted for something. The children used their magic to keep these things in tact over the centuries, though they still looked brittle and old with age.

Truth be told, Arya was giving everything over to her Uncle Benjen. It wasn’t that she _couldn’t_ do this; it’s that she didn’t _want_ to. She was certain given the right motivation she could manage it, she could tolerate the paperwork, the parties, the gowns, the suitors, the gathering of banners, the meetings, the expenses and taxes and traveling. She could do it all; she had a will of iron when it came to serious matters. She took after her Father in many things, so she knew she could lead the North.

She just didn’t want to.

Benjen Stark took it reluctantly, agreed that if they ever went home he’d take over for her until Rickon came of age. Rickon needed his Uncle more then he needed her anyways. She couldn’t teach him the things Benjen could. Maybe some of it, but not all.  

Outside, Arya can hear the silence save the rocking of the boat and the waves splashing against the sides. Most of the ships were gone, sent away by royal decree to safety. Thousands of ships carrying men, women and children to lands unknown.

Well, mostly Dorne and Braavos but still…

She was one of the few who opted to stay behind, Gendry stayed with her even though she demanded he go to Dorne with the others. Benjen took Rickon to Dorne as well, along with his direwolf Shaggy Dog, that wildling woman who found Rickon and the scattered few left of the Nights watch.  Benjen had to go anyways; he was leading what was left of the North.

She was going to stay here and help Jon.

“I bet you didn’t plan for this…” Arya grumbles quietly as she sets the journal aside.

“Oi,” Gendry’s voice echoes outside the cabin, “You in there?”

“Yes,” Arya replies quietly. Gendry opens the door to look at her, “Come on…the Queen’s here.”

 

* * *

 

**Present Day**

 

On deck, Daenerys Targaryen waits by the railing of the ship, staring out over the water. She thanks Gendry and watches him go, leaving her alone with Arya.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright,” Dany says as Arya approaches her.

“I’m fine,” Arya replies, watching her curiously, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Dany sighs, “I just needed to ask you something….it’s going to be a bit awkward I’m afraid.”

“Try me,” Arya says, leaning against the railing beside her so she can stare down at the water.

“I’ll just ask you outright I suppose,” Dany says thoughtfully, “We don’t have much time for formalities right now. Did you have a third sister?”

“ _What_?” Arya frowns at Dany, “No…not that I know of.”

“The witch came to see me the other day,” Dany explains, “she mentioned a sister….the way it sounded, it sounded as if she were referring to Sansa.”

“I’m pretty sure I would have noticed if I’d had a third sister,” Arya says dryly.

Dany nods, “I thought as much…but Eddard Stark has claimed children as his own before though they weren’t….what if he had another you didn’t know about?”

“Are you suggesting that Jon and that witch are twins?” Arya asks her skeptically, “I seriously doubt it.”

“The woman is too old to be his twin,” Dany shakes her head; “She’s got to be at least thirty. I was thinking along the lines of something else. What if he took on another bastard and sent them somewhere else to live?”

“Again, I doubt it,” Arya replies, “I’ve read my sister’s journals a hundred times by now. The witch is named Haessa.”

Dany straightens, frowning as she looks at Arya, “Why haven’t you told me any of this?”

“Because it sounds completely mad,” Arya tells her, “but what she told me was basically the witch is named Haessa….she’s this immortal dragon kin or whatever. Apparently her life’s goal is to destroy the human race. She’s trying to unite the kingdoms of different magical creatures, a bit like what your great grandfather did.”

“Your right,” Dany says after a pause, “That does sound a bit mad.”

“It would make sense though,” Arya replies, “and why would Sansa make up a story like that anyways?”

Dany sighs thoughtfully, “So…how is this witch Haessa and Sansa connected?”

“No clue,” Arya replies, “but she think’s Sansa is her sister?”

“Yes,” Dany replies, “From what it looked like she did.” The Dany frowns suddenly, as if a thought she didn’t particularly like had struck her. She turns her gaze to meet Arya’s, her voice curious and a little worried, “How well do you know your sister?”

“I grew up with her,” Arya says as if it were obvious, “I’m pretty sure I know her fairly well.”

“You remember her,” Dany presses, “Even as a little girl? She’s been with your family since birth?”

“Of course,” Arya says, “What are you getting at?”

“I’m wondering,” Dany says aloud, “If Sansa Stark isn’t really Sansa Stark at all.”

 

* * *

 

The corridors of the Aegonfort were bright with sunlight as the noonday sun glitters down upon the land. Her hair was braided elegantly, long auburn tresses swaying down her back in curls. A five tier layer of rubies hung at her throat, and her gown was black, hanging upon the edges of her shoulders with sleeves cut to look like wings, her bare arms hidden beneath them. The material was soft black silk brocade sewn with hints of silver to look like dragon scales.  She looked every inch the Queen she was now, and this would be her first day sitting the Iron Throne alone. Aegon insisted upon it, they needed to recognize her as Queen. Upon her brow rested a silver crown similar to Aegon’s, encrusted with rubies. The necklace at her throat was heavy and very expensive. She was nervous about wearing it but Visenya had insisted upon it.

_“If you let him, Aegon will spoil you rotten; he enjoys gifting things upon the people he cares about.  It’s a statement as well, it says that he prizes you greatly, and that you have his ear in all things…”_

Trailing along behind her are the members of the Kings guard assigned to her, her hand maidens and Gyan dressed in his best silk brocade jerkin. He would be present in court today to witness how a gathering is done. Apart from his education alongside Sansa,  Aegon’s agreed to put him with Aenys during sparring practice, which was useful because Aenys seemed more interested when his friend was with him. 

Sansa knew today would be a defining moment for her, and today she’d have to observe the people and decide upon the members of her own court. She also needed to visit the rest of the high families. These visits would help her decide upon the members, and she’s only seen the Tyrells, the Lannisters and the Baratheons. If Argella would permit it, Sansa would approve of Serena joining her court if only to get the girl out in public and away from Storms End. She personally knew the dangers of court life, and if she’d been taught sooner how to deal with that then maybe it wouldn’t have been so horrible for her. She wanted Serena to see the truth, and she was going to do it differently than the traumatic moments that Cersei created for her when revealing that terrible reality.

Chin up, game face on…

The wide double doors to the King’s hall open and before her sitting upon the dais is the Iron Throne. It looms above the court; an iron stack of melted swords piled high and shaped into a chair. Walking into that room was the easy part, her eyes locked on the throne and not on the people who watch her. They kneel as she passes, murmuring words of respect. It was the voices and memories in her head that made her heart race.

Joffrey’s laughter and his cruel words...

_Step._

Cersei’s hateful remarks…

_Step._

Littlefinger and his plots…

_Step._

 Tywin Lannister and his cruel dealings…

_Step._

 Watching her father die, being stripped naked and beaten before the court for her brother Robb’s victories in battle…

_Step…step…step…._

 The day she’s told that Robb and her Mother were dead and the vile things done to their corpses, the howling winter swirling around an abandoned burned Winterfell, her childhood home…

_Step…step…step…_

The Boltons who stole it from them, the Boltons who burned for their treachery along with the Freys…

_Step…step…step…_

Every loss and every death, watching Oberyn die...

_Step._

Then she stood before the dais and she gazed up at the throne. It loomed over her, but it wasn’t a threat to her anymore. It was an ally, and every harsh word, and everything she suffered, and everything those cruel and hateful people ever did to her now meant absolutely _nothing_.

She climbs the metal steps of the Iron throne all the way to the top and turns to face the gathered crowd below. They watch her as she watches them, and neatly she spreads her skirts and the winged sleeves that are draped over her bare arms as she lowers herself down to sit upon the Iron Throne for the first time.

As their Queen.

On her left hand her wedding ring glitters in the light through the tall mosaic windows, the Valyrian steel setting, the bright red ruby. It's warm against her hand; the Valyrian words on the inner band were pressed and imprinted upon her skin. _To you I am bound, in this life and the next…_

To see that ring gives her strength, it means that she is Aegon’s wife, his Queen and these people _will_ respect her. They would know that he chose her for a reason, that she was worthy of being his Queen.

With a deep breath, she begins her first day of court.


	104. Chapter 104

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

In a three day’s time it would be Aenys’s eleventh name day. The Tyrells have offered to hold a tourney in his honor, so the Targaryen family would be paying them a visit in the near future. Aenys was excited about, he’d never been to Highgarden and he loved tourneys. Visenya had agreed to arrange it all with the assistance of the Tyrells if Sansa dealt with the food preparations. She was happy to take on that task as she wanted the baker from the village to make him his name day cake.

Another task on her plate was a personal one. Sansa wanted to see Winterfell before she went to Highgarden, and since she and Aegon would be sharing Balarion for the trip he was going to go with her. The Tyrells had considerable room for their dragons, but not all three, especially if Balarion was going to be there. The Starks weren’t going to the tourney and Aegon needed to speak with Torrhen anyways, so it was optimal that they visit before Highgarden.

At the moment, she was currently packing. She needed enough clothes for the trip to Winterfell as well as Highgarden, she needed to ensure Aegon, Aenys and Gyan all had the clothes they needed as well. Being Aegon’s wife has added responsibilities. As his wife she was now the Lady of Dragonstone, and she was weighted with the responsibilities as Aegon’s wife as well as his Queen. Visenya took some of the weight though; she handled everything for Maegor and the things that needed to be done in Kings Landing before they left for Highgarden. Aenys and Gyan were travelling by carriage and left the day before. Maegor was riding with Visenya on Vhagar. The whole of Westeros was converging on Highgarden.

The Tyrells must be thrilled.

“Aegon,” Sansa calls as she leans out a bit so she could see her husband down the hall near where his bed chambers were. He was currently pulling on a shirt but pauses to peer as he pulls his head through the neck of it.

“Yes?” He quirks an eyebrow at her, grabbing for his boots.

“Did you want to bring your formal jerkin? I thought it might be necessary for appearances sake but maybe it’s a bit too much?”

“No,” Aegon calls back, “Bring it. I rather like that jerkin anyways. Leave the green one though; Visenya got me that one for my name day a few years back. It’s hideous and ill-fitted. She seems to like it though….I’m not entirely sure _why_. _She_ doesn’t have to wear it.”

Sansa giggles a little; it was amusing to see this side of him. He and Visenya bickered every bit like brother and sister. Normally Visenya had better taste in clothes. Sansa frowns as she holds up the green jerkin he spoke of. It really _was_ hideous. It had an odd shadow of yellow sewn into a pattern in the material. Sansa imagined that Visenya probably wanted it to be gold but it came out more like the color of a sunflower. Sansa giggled at the very thought of Aegon being made to wear this.

“I’d burn it if I thought she wouldn’t be offended,” Aegon says sourly as he passes by, snatching up the ugly jerkin and tossing it back into his closet as he goes.

“We need to get a move on Aegon,” Sansa calls with a sigh as he heads towards his study to pick up a few things. They would be late for dinner if he kept on like this…

“I know,” he calls as he goes, “I’ll be down in a moment!”

With a sigh, she turns to face the luggage behind her. Ringing for the servants she has it all carried down to the dragon pits to be stored in the saddlebags. They were only taking with them what they needed at Winterfell. The rest left with Aenys and Gyan in the carriage the day before.

Grabbing a soft black velvet over coated lined with fur, she pulls it on over her riding clothes and swings the heavy braid of her auburn hair over one shoulder. Aegon is just coming down the staircase wielding a book and a few pieces of parchment he was stuffing into a satchel as they meet at the bottom of the stairs.

“Ready?” Sansa says as she looks up at him, proffering his own fur lined riding coat. He takes it gratefully and pulls it on, tying it closed.

“Yes,” he agrees, “Are you sure you’ll be warm enough?”

Nodding Sansa replies, “Winterfell in the spring isn’t as cold as the winter. I should be fine.”

He nods thoughtfully before he offers his arm, “Then let’s get going.”

 

* * *

 

The last time she rode Balarion, she was in the middle of a magically induced panic attack. Now she was calm confident seated in front of Aegon, her hands gripping the saddle while his hands were hold the reins on either side of her. Who gets to say they got to go flying on Balarion _twice_? The farther North they fly, the colder it gets. Sansa pulls the hood up over her head to shield her ears and cheeks from the icy wind, leaning back against Aegon for warmth. He was always warm it seemed, with his arms on either side of her waist as he holds the reins. She leans back, shifting just enough to pull up his hood too, something which he smiles in thanks for. The twist and turn through the sky, and for some bizarre reason in brings a flash of memory to mind.

_She was soaring through the air, her arms outstretched with her brother behind her, and she inhales the fresh morning air, her head tilted back as the wind rolls over her chest and face like a wave crashing against the shore…_

Sansa mimics it, and it’s a glorious feeling. She can’t explain it, she can’t understand it but it feels _right_. For a moment in time she swears her hair is the color of molten silver splashed with gold, but when she blinks the illusion is gone. Vaguely she’s aware of Aegon’s hands snapping down on her waist, the reins pressed against her sides as he holds her in place. She lowers her arms, realizing she might be making him nervous. Leaning back against him, she can feel the tenseness drain out of him, his hands settling nearly her waist with the reins tight in his grip. They soar right over the towers of Winterfell, circling so Sansa can see it all before landing. Torrhen Stark is waiting by the gates, watching as Balarion comes to a soft landing in the snow just beyond the gates, flapping his wings to shake the bitter chill from his scales.

Aegon slides off first and then helps Sansa down, his hands on her waist as he sets her down upon the ground. Turning she looks in the direction of the Warden of the North, a man in thick grey fur and black leather. He reminds Sansa distinctly of her Father, chin length brown hair and warm knowing brown eyes.

“Your grace,” he says allowed as they approach him, her hand delicately held in Aegon’s.

“Lord Stark,” Aegon greets him politely, “Thank you for having us.”

He nods, “It’s an honor your grace.” He turns to Sansa and bows politely, “and you your grace.”

“My lord,” Sansa replies politely, “I’ve been asking Aegon if we could visit your keep for a while now. It’s quite lovely.”

“Thank you,” he replies evenly as he shifts his gaze between Aegon and Sansa, “Please, come inside out of the cold. Dinner’s ready in the great hall.”

 

* * *

 

Inside the hall is reminiscent of Winterfell in her own time. Except it was the original keep, nothing had been rebuilt yet and the walls were warm from the spring water that circulates through the stone. It felt so good to be home at last. They sit with the rest of the Stark family, filling their plates and discussing matters of the realm, specifically the North. Sansa was introduced to the rest of Torrhen’s family, his wife Melleah, his eldest son Braeden, and his daughter Ayara.  

It felt strange, being home again and sitting at the dinner table eating with her great grandfather and his family. She could tell Aegon was taking interest in that fact too, because he was more keen then usual to hear stories of the North from Torrhen.

“How do you like Winterfell your grace?” Asks Melleah Stark, noting Sansa’s quiet demeanor.

“It’s lovely,” Sansa smiles politely, “I do love the architecture. I understand the walls were built with spring water running through them?”

“Oh yes,” Melleah nods, “It keeps up quite warm all year round. If you’d like, we have hot water spring pools here, within the glass gardens themselves. They’re lovely to soak in should you like to. I’m sure you’re not used to such bitter weather as this.”

“That does sound wonderful,” Sansa admits with a nod. How she longed to sit in one of those pools and soak for a while.

* * *

 

After dinner they’re shown to the guest house. Sansa can’t help but soak in the beauty of her home, the way things were before the fires and the sieges and the battles that would happen here in later years. Their luggage is already set out for them, and Sansa grabs an extra chemise before changing into her dressing gown. She wanted to wait for everybody to be sleeping before she attempted to trek across Winterfell in her dressing gown to the Glass Gardens.

“Do you mind?” Aegon asks, nodding towards the bed.

“We’ve shared many times,” Sansa replies, “It doesn’t bother me.”

Aegon nods, stripping out of his riding clothes and into something more comfortable. Sansa keeps her eyes averted, coming out her long auburn tresses before braiding them over her shoulder. Aegon is the first to get into bed, promptly falling asleep moments later. She tries not to giggle when he snores, he doesn’t like the fact that he does it, and he only snores when he’s properly tired.

Quietly she stands and blows out all the candles, tucking the blankets up over his waist. He hadn’t even bothered to pull the blankets over himself, which was a testimony to his exhaustion alone.

“He’s handsome,” a woman’s voice says in the silence and the darkness of the room from behind her.

Sansa, very nearly jumping out of her own skin in fright whirls around to look. It was Haessa, her silver golden curls wrapped in braids, her gown like molten gold flecked with obsidian. “It’s you…” Sansa breaths in a soft whisper, careful not to wake Aegon.

“Oh don’t worry,” she tells Sansa, “he won’t wake until I’m gone.”

“Who are you?” Sansa demands, glowering at her, “Why are you here?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Haessa replies, regarding her thoughtfully, “You know my name. It’s there….” She says as she taps her own temple, “right there in your mind, tangled up with all those other things.”

“You can read my mind?” Sansa blinks at her.

“I can do many things,” she replies evenly, “at first I thought you nothing but a nuisance. Now I think I know who you are. It’s taken you a while you know…I was beginning to think you’d never come back, not after last time.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Sansa frowns at her, “I don’t understand, we’ve never met before.”

“Yes we have,” Haessa replies, “We’ve met over and over and over again….different lives but essentially the same people save for a few differences.” At the look of confusion upon Sansa’s face she adds with a nod towards Aegon, “I see you’ve found Aelarr.”

Wait… _what?_

“His name is Aegon,” Sansa says flatly, “He’s not your brother.”

“He isn’t,” Haessa agrees, “but in a different life he was.”

“and by extension,” Sansa adds, “I am not your sister.”

“You aren’t,” Haessa nods, “but you used to be.”

“That makes no sense,” Sansa hisses angrily at her, “Are you even hearing yourself?”

Haessa sighs, lounging in the chair near the door she turns her gaze to the window, lightly twirling her index finger through the air like one would write across parchment. On the far window Sansa watches the colors swirl and move across the glass, glittering and iridescent in the moonlight. “Once….a long time ago we lived in prosperity. There were five of us, five siblings. I and my sister Naesa we’re the eldest, then came Aelarr, you and Vamon.” She pauses to look at Sansa, quirking an eyebrow, “Is anything starting to come back little sister?”

Flashing memories, swirling dreams of different lives and different places but Sansa blinks them away, shaking her head determinedly. None of it made sense, it was pieced together like a painting that had been torn to bits and reassembled clumsily. Nothing really fit properly where it should be…

“We lived in the lands of the Eternal Summer, where true dragons roamed the earth and our people were the most powerful in all the world. Yet our bloodlines were sullied by mankind, and our power was dwindling. I was a rare case I suppose…I could see what the others couldn’t. I was young and innocent in the beginning…but then _they_ found me. I had witnessed my Mother be brutally raped and murdered by the human race, a brutality I wouldn’t wish upon anyone. My Father did nothing to stop it…he was _weak_ …” Sansa eyes drifting over the shifting depictions on the glass, the story unfolding before her eyes as people and places dance across the glass.  “Then I found more like me…others who’d suffered at the hands of the human race.” She pauses to look at Sansa, “You’ve suffered….I can see it there in your head. You’ve suffered more at their hands than any other. Little sister…I think it’s time you come home.”

“I have no interest in killing anyone,” Sansa says flatly, the odd look in Haessa’s eyes was making her nervous. Her eyes weren’t human; they were an unearthly constellation of stars, a facet of colors swirling into deep indigo.

“You always say that,” she sighs as she watches Sansa, “Every time we meet…you always tell me the same thing.”

“Then perhaps you should take the hint,” Sansa says firmly, though she wasn’t nearly as confident as she sounded at the moment…

“ _Daeyra_ ,” Haessa sighs, “ _Sweet_ little sister with your heart pure as gold, haven’t you learned anything over the centuries? Mankind is a _plague_ ….and they’ll continue to hurt you and destroy what you love until you have nothing left. How many times have you lost Aelarr and Vamon to them? You’ll lose him too…” Haessa says, pointing towards Aegon, “Your beloved will die just like he always does.”

“That’s a lie,” Sansa snaps angrily, “and I’m not Daeyra. My name is Sansa.”

“Why do you think I killed your beloved?” Haessa quirks an eyebrow, “Can’t you _see_? You lost him because you refused to accept that mankind is _folly_. If you’d just come home you’d have never been in that mess to begin with!”

Horror creeps across Sansa’s expression, and bitter rage seeps into her eyes and in her voice, “How do you know about that?”

“I can see it there,” Haessa replies, “In your head. I killed him…I know why, it’s obvious.”

“You murdered the love of my life to _prove a point_?” Sansa snarls. Anger was like a living thing inside of her, boiling over the surface…

“Not yet,” she smiles wanly, “ _but I will_.”

Truth be told, it’s already happened. There would be no saving Oberyn now even if she tried, because she’d never come back to this point in time to learn that Haessa knew all along.

Haessa is smiling, amusement dancing in her eyes, “It’s either me or something _nasty_ little sister, believe me…you’d rather it be me. I’m doing Vamon a favor honestly.”

"Vamon…” Sansa blinks at her, “Oberyn….Vamon…”

“Same person,” Haessa smiles wanly at her, “Your twin.”

“Aelarr…” Sansa feels the panic rising up her throat; she thinks she might be sick…

“Your twin,” Haessa smiles at her, “Your triplets just as I am twins with Naesa.”

Sansa sits down heavily on the trunk in front of the bed, staring at Haessa with a mixture of shock and mild fear. Haessa just tilts her head to one side and regards her, smiling like she’s just won the best match in history.

“Sometimes,” Haessa tells her, “Vamon finds you….sometimes Aelarr finds you. Sometimes neither of them find you and your left to wander the world and believe me,” Haessa laughs a little, “Those times are amusing because you can be _really_ creative when you want to be. I honestly was surprised however when Vamon chose Dorne. Yet you….you chose the children. I didn’t see that coming honestly, you had me that time. You ran right into their arms and became one of them just to get away from me.”

“Get out,” Sansa snarls, grappling for Blackfyre which was sitting against the wall near the bed. She was going to behead this bitch even if she had to use her own body weight to do it. In retrospect, she knew she could scarcely _lift_ Blackfyre let alone swing it.

She didn’t care about the technicalities right now though.

“What are you doing?” Haessa watches her like she was doing something incredibly stupid, “Put that down before you hurt yourself.”

“I’ll….I’ll…” Sansa can’t breathe, she can’t _think_ …

“You’ll what?” Haessa stands, watching her skeptically, “ _kill me_? You can’t kill me Daeyra anymore then I could ever kill you. It’s the curse of our people.”

“Get out!” Sansa yells again, ready to rip the other woman’s hair out. If she can’t use a sword she can sure as hell use her nails. She raises her hand, prepared to do something incredibly unladylike when Haessa vanishes and the scenery on the window stills back into its proper place. Behind her, Aegon stirs.

“Sansa?” he sounds worried, “Sansa what is it?”

“I….” Sansa blinks into the empty space and turns to look at him, “I….she was here Aegon…Haessa was _here_ …”

“What?” he sits up sharply, watching her, “Did she hurt you?”

“No,” Sansa says as she walks over to the bed, sitting beside him. “No…she just…told me some things….I don’t understand but…but…” There were tears sliding down her cheeks, she could feel them warm against her skin. Aegon pulls her close, wrapping his arms around her. He presses kisses to the top of her head as they slide under the covers. Weeping, she burrows close against his side and buries her face against his neck. What Haessa told her scared the wits out of her, and it changed everything. Would this wreck everything she’s planned? Would finding the key even matter if she couldn’t kill Haessa?

“Hush,” Aegon says gently, his hand rubbing soothing circles across her back, “Hush now…she’s gone Sansa….she’s gone.”

But was she really?


	105. Chapter 105

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

In the morning when she wakes, her face is pressed into the crook of Aegon’s neck, her right hand spread across his chest. She can feel the steady beating of his heart beneath her hand, the warmth of his body radiating into hers. His left arm is still around her waist, holding her against him.  Shifting she realizes that she’s all but pinned against him. If she moved too much she’d wake him, and he needed sleep. Her right leg is slung over his left, her toes were warm against his right calve. In truth, she was very comfortable lying against him. There was only one problem, and she became very aware of it, very quickly when she tried to adjust her leg.

When she first married Oberyn, she learned many things about men. Men had habits just like women did, men had excessive hair on certain parts of their body, and men weren’t _always_ a gentleman especially after eating certain kinds of foods. Women had all the same things, and yet there is one thing in which they had one very significant difference.

That significant difference was currently brushing against the top of her knee. With a deep breath, she tries very hard not to move. She didn’t want to embarrass him, and she wasn’t exactly trying to antagonize the significant difference in question any further. This was a natural response during sleep, it happened to Oberyn all the time. The goal was, she needed to slide out of his grip without waking him.

This was going to be awkward.

She needed to get up anyways. She needed to go for a walk and clear her head. She spent most of the night weeping and at some point fell asleep against him. She’d kept him up longer then she’d meant too, and she knew he must be exhausted. Cautiously, she slides down the length of his body, edging away from his grip on her waist. She could try moving his hand, but what if that woke him? Aegon was a true warrior, if he thought for an even a second he was in danger or something was amiss he’d wake up. She’s nearly free of his grip when his hand jerks and curls tighter, but this time it wasn’t on her waist.

Oh _bother_.

“ _Aegon_ ,” Sansa squeaks, shock and embarrassment coloring her cheeks. His fingers were warm against her right breast, and she could swear her eye was starting to twitch. This wasn’t a good position to be in, her face was level with his lower abdomen, and his hand was currently cupping her breast. “Aegon wake up,” Sansa squeaks, because now she can’t get free and she can’t move.

He blinks awake, sleepy and blurry eyed as he looks down at her. When realization dawns on him his hand snaps away from her breast like he’d been burned. “Sorry!” he says quickly, color flushing red high on his cheeks. Then as the fog in his mind clears he quirks an eyebrow as he looks down at her, “What are you doing down there?”

“I was trying to get up without waking you,” Sansa says sheepishly, “Your arm had me trapped so I tried to slide out.”

“Ah,” he nods and shifts under the blankets….then he becomes aware of a second problem. “Ah,” he says again and looks at her, “Again, sorry.” He rolls away from her and out of bed, disappearing into the lavatory.

Humiliated Sansa rolls out of bed and groans in frustration. Nothing ever seemed to happen how she’d like it; she can’t even get out of bed without waking Aegon. Quickly she changes, pulling on one of her heavier gowns meant for cold weather. She’s just braiding her hair when he returns, watching her braid her hair.

“So,” he begins tentatively as he sits on the edge of the bed to watch her, “Are you going to tell me what happened last night?”

“She was here,” Sansa replies quietly, “Haessa was in here with us. She did something to you so you wouldn’t wake and then she kept talking to me…she wouldn’t _leave_.”

“Is that why Blackfyre was out of its sheath last night?” Aegon asks her, tilting his head to the side.

“Yes,” Sansa blushes brightly, realizing she hadn’t put Blackfyre back into its sheath.

“It wouldn’t have done you any good,” he advises her honestly, “next time if she does that, I want you to use a dagger. You need to be in range to use it; I’m assuming Oberyn taught you how?”

“Yes,” Sansa replies, “he also taught me to use a spear…but I’m rubbish at it.”

“Do you still have your snake dagger?” he quirks an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Sansa replies, “It’s in my luggage.”

“Good,” Aegon nods, “I want you to keep it on you at all times. Strap it to your thigh, put it in your boot, or keep it in your corset. I can have another made for you that would fit well in your hair. You carrying a bow with you everywhere would be bothersome,” he tells her, “So a dagger will do. You also have poison in that dagger. You need to remember in a dangerous situation like that, you must stay calm or you won’t be able to think. Anything in the room can be used as a weapon; you just need to remember that.”

“She wasn’t attacking me,” Sansa replies quietly, “she was just….she just…”

 

_“Aelarr…” Sansa feels the panic rising up her throat; she thinks she might be sick…_

_“Your twin,” Haessa smiles at her, “Your triplets just as I am twins with Naesa.”_

 

How could she explain that to Aegon? That they were siblings in a different life, assuming that the whole idea of it was even true. Haessa could be lying to her, weaving some stupid story to keep her off the right track. The worst part was now her mind kept replaying the images of Rhaenys’s death.

Was she Rhaenys?

Did she witness those things because she was _remembering_ them rather than dreaming them? Did the cosmos really have that sick of a sense of humor? How many times has she met Aegon? How many times has she met Oberyn? If she was Daeyra, Aelarr was Aegon and Oberyn was Vamon then where was Naesa?

_Visenya…Ellaria…_

The possibilities were endless, and now her own wedding vows were ringing in her ears. Did the words ring more truth for those who married in the Valyrian way? Did the Valyrians themselves literally mean it?

 

_To you I am bound, in this life and the next…_

 

 She could feel a bubble of hysteria working its way up her throat. She was either going to scream or throw up. She was on her knees before she knew what hit her, and suddenly Aegon was there, pulling her into his arms. “Hey,” he says, kissing her forehead, brushing away her tears, “Don’t cry…we’ll figure this out Sansa….stay with me, stay with me.”

“I’m just….” Sansa shakes her head, humiliated to be falling apart like this in front of him, “I’m such a task for you.”

“ _No_ ,” he frowns as he looks down at her, “No don’t say that. You’re not a task Sansa.”

She curls her arms around his shoulders and presses her forehead against his shoulder, letting his arms pull her against him and envelope her in his warmth. What if he died? What if what Haessa said was true? What if it was her fault?

She couldn’t risk that….she wouldn’t risk it.

“I can’t stay here,” Sansa whispers sadly against his shoulder, “I should go beyond the wall…hide with the children. I’m putting you in danger.”

“I’ve spent a lot of my life in danger Sansa,” he says softly, “this wouldn’t be anything new to me.”

“She told me you’d die,” Sansa says flatly, “You’ve died many times and nothing ever changes. I always end up losing you or Oberyn. _She killed him_ ….she killed Oberyn to _prove a point_ ,” the words are bitter like acid on her tongue, “she did it without a care…she didn’t care that it hurt me…she just wanted me to come _home_.”

“What are you talking about?” he says, pulling back to look at her, “Did she tell you this?”

“I…” she gazes up at him, into those warm lilac eyes full of honesty and sincere concern. How could she tell this man that she might possibly be Rhaenys? How could she tell him that he was her husband from a different life, and that they just keep finding each other over and over again through some weird magical curse?

Was it a curse? Haessa called it one, but maybe it wasn’t. She had so many questions and very few answers.

She needed to speak with the children.

“I’m…” Sansa shakes her head, trying to calm herself down, “I just need to breathe Aegon…I need to just sit for a minute. I’m working myself up…”

“I’m not going anywhere Sansa,” he tells her honestly, “I do believe I made a vow to you.”

“As I you,” Sansa smiles wanly up at him, oh how true the words of that vow rang…

“Then tell me what’s going on,” he presses gently.

“It’s complicated,” Sansa says softly, “I need you to trust me. I’ll explain it to you when I understand. I need to speak with the children first.” The she adds after a pause, “I’ll go after the spring banquet.”

He nods, “Would you like me to ring the servants for breakfast? I’ll have them bring it up to us.”

“Yes please,” she says softly, kissing his cheek, “Thank you.”

There is a moment of pause, her warm breath against his cheek as he turns his face to look at her. Then ever so gently he kisses her, and she sighs against his lips. How she _liked_ kissing him, but there was that quiet terror under her skin. He presses the kiss further and she greedily accepts it, his warm hands trailing down her sides, her hips, and then back up to her waist. Her fingers curl in his hair and pull him closer, their tongues dancing together with heat and passion.

Then a snowball abruptly slams into the bedroom window behind them.

They both jump at the sound and Sansa giggles against his lips before she pulls away, “Rogue snowball.”

“I’d take that as an attack on my person if the window weren’t closed,” he says playfully, grinning down at her.

“Going to fetch Balarion are you? You’d be no fun in a snowball fight,” Sansa tells him honestly.

“I’m the conqueror,” he tells her with a grin, “I can conquer any battlefield.”

The moment is ruined quite spectacularly between them, and any heat that burned in that moment was dwindling down as reality sets in. Gently pulling away Sansa gets to her feet and straightens her skirts. The two smile awkwardly at one another before he turns to get dressed and find a servant. She watches him go, a mixture of longing and fear still churning in her stomach.

 

* * *

 

After breakfast she walks alone in the godswood. It’s just as she remembers it, beautiful and quiet. As she goes she spies the weirwood in the distance, and sitting beneath it is Torrhen Stark. She pauses, fearful that she might be intruding. He glances up and smiles at her, and she smiles in return before walking closer.

“My lord,” Sansa says softly in greeting.

“Good morning your grace,” he replies with a bow of his head, “I was just cleaning my family’s ancestral sword.”

“I can see that,” Sansa replies, the shock of seeing Ice whole and intact was startling. It was just as she remembered it. “Ice, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he nods with a smile, “You have knowledge of sword craft I take it?”

“Oh no,” Sansa smiles faintly, “His grace does however…he was just telling me about it over breakfast this morning.”

Torrhen nods as Sansa sits beside him, the two of them staring out at the pond before them.

“You seem tense your grace,” he says, glancing at her thoughtfully.

“I’ve a lot of my plate these days,” Sansa smiles faintly, “I find myself still adjusting to life here in Westeros.”

He nods, “It can be difficult, I imagine you find it quite different then Volantis.”

“I do,” Sansa nods, “It’s so different here…and yet it’s very similar. I find myself left with more questions than answers at times.”

Torrhen Stark sets Ice aside and clasps his hands over his knees, regarding Sansa thoughtfully, “Sometimes when I’m overwhelmed I find that returning to the beginning often helps.”

_If only she could do that…it wasn’t like she could go to Valyria…it was nothing but smoke and ash and burning lava…_

“What if you can’t find the beginning,” Sansa says quietly, “what if you don’t know where to start?”

“Then you start where you began,” he replies, “You go back to the furthest point and retrace your steps.”

In the distance she can hear children laughing, and when she looks up through the trees she covers her mouth to stifle the giggle threatening to spill from her lips. She can see Aegon near the guest house, doing battle with a bunch of children from the village flinging snowballs. He never seemed the type to have a snowball fight, but he has done many things that have surprised her…

Torrhen grins, his breath misting in the morning air, “His grace seems to have found the rebels hiding in the shrubbery.”

“Yes,” Sansa giggles as she watches, “They were fighting just outside our window earlier and one of them hit our bedroom window.”

Torrhen laughs, nodding, “Yes…they’re notorious for it.”

“Thank you,” Sansa says as she looks at him, “For the advice my lord. I appreciate it…you have no idea how much.” Looking at him hurt her eyes, he reminded her so much of Eddard Stark that she could cry. Instead she stands before the tears start to burn her eyes and dusts off her skirts.

“Your quite welcome your grace,” he replies, watching her.

“I think I’ll go and help his grace defend the keep,” she grins down at Torrhen. Then she turns and walks back towards the guest house, scooping up a snowball as she goes.

Ducking low she waits till Aegon’s back is to her before she pelts him right in the back with it. Grinning triumphantly as he turns to look at her, she wiggles her eyebrows and dives sideways before a snowball thrown in retaliation hits her in the shoulder. “You missed!” she laughs as the village children start pelting Aegon with snowballs in defense of their Queen.

“You’ll not defend your King?” he calls back to her with a laugh.

“My King!” Sansa shouts with a laugh as she dives out from her hiding place and pelts him with snowballs, “In every battlefield I shall defend you,” she tells him, “except when it comes to snowballs.”

“Alright,” Torrhen’s voice echoes across the courtyard, a warm smile on his face as he looks upon the village children, “Leave his grace in peace.”

The children relent, bowing and backing away before running off through the courtyard. Sansa watches them go before gasping in surprise as Aegon dumps a snowball right on top of her head. The snow slides down the back of her gown and she squirms to be free of it. “ _Aegon_!” she squeals and laughs while her husband grins at her.

This was hardly appropriate in front of Torrhen Stark.

She would have told him so if she hadn’t had ice cold snow sliding down the back of her gown. Aegon seems to know that too, because he’s edging away from her in case she retaliates.

“A word of advice your grace?” Torrhen Stark says to Aegon.

“Let’s hear it,” Aegon replies aloud.

“I would run if I we’re you,” he grins at Aegon, “I tried that once with my wife...never again I tell you.”

And then the battle commenced.

 

* * *

 

They sit shivering as they peel layers of wet clothing off of themselves and set them aside. The fire is warm as Sansa drops down on her knees beside it, Aegon draping a blanket over her shoulders as he goes to sit down across from her. “I told you I’d win.”

“I wasn’t going to continue on after I hit Torrhen Stark in the shoulder with that snowball,” Sansa says, the blush still coloring her cheeks, “I felt _awful_. That was so inappropriate.”

Aegon grins at her, bemused, “It’s not your fault he was caught in the line of fire.”

Sansa snorts, rolling her eyes, “I still behaved---…”

“Like yourself,” he finishes for her, “and there’s nothing wrong with that. In the eyes of the court yes…you have to have a little propriety…but when it’s just us I want you to be yourself. Torrhen Stark has seen worse I assure you…when Aenys was three he ran naked through the corridor connecting the guest house and the great keep. I was humiliated….poor Rhaenys couldn’t catch him either, he had a thing about taking off his nappies…”

Sansa giggles, her eyes glittering with mirth, “Sweet Mother that _is_ bad.”

Aegon nods, “When Torrhen’s son Braeden was five he kicked him in the shin right in front of me,” grinning he stares into the fires of the hearth, “it was only because Torrhen told him he couldn’t go with us out on a hunt.”

“Oh my,” Sansa blushes, “That’s horrible.”

“Humiliating a bit,” Aegon agrees, “but we’re only human Sansa…we make mistakes.”

“You need to dry off,” Sansa says as she picks at the wet sleeve of his tunic, “You’ll get sick like that.”

He nods, climbing to his feet to yank off his tunic and trousers. It was something she’d have to get used to she imagined, averting her gaze was automatic by now. She keeps her eyes on the hearth while he changes; in her peripherals she catches glimpses of pale bare skin, his upper thigh, the side of his waist….

_Stop looking!_

Scolding herself soundly she turns her face so she can’t see him at all, angry with herself. She had to stop this madness. She can hear him fumbling with clothes somewhere behind her, and then he appears in his small clothes, a thin linen tunic and matching trousers. “Did you want me to have them draw you a bath?”

Sansa shakes her head quietly, “I just want to rest I think,” Sansa admits softly.

“I happen to agree,” he nods, “I’m still exhausted.” She watches him sprawl out on the bed right in the middle and she can’t help but grin at him.

“Are you going to leave me any room?”

He pats the bed beside him, “Plenty of room for you.”

She stands and changes into a clean pair of small clothes before climbing onto the bed beside him, curling up against his side. They sit in the quiet of the room; the only sound is the fire crackling in the hearth. “I’m so happy to know you.”

“I’m happy to know _you_ ,” he replies with a soft smile, “you’ve made my life quite interesting. Do you know, Visenya and I hadn’t said more than two words to each other since Rhaenys died…and then you show up and suddenly we’re having full conversations with each other again.”

Sansa grins into his shoulder, marveling in the warmth of his body against hers, “I’m glad I’ve helped you….you and Visenya seemed so at odds with each other.”

“We blamed each other,” he admits aloud with a sigh, “and we shouldn’t have.”

They fall silent for a while, the later afternoon sunlight glimmers through the mosaic windows, dancing along the far wall in an array of colors. Sansa is so warm and comfortable against him, she’d have no objections sleeping like this. Yet something weighed on her mind, something that kept dancing so temptingly just out of her reach. “Aegon,” she says softly.

“Yes?” he replies, his eyes closed as he marvels in the warmth of the bed and the woman beside him.

“Would…” she pauses, takes a deep breath before continuing, “would you kiss me?”

He blinks, his eyes snapping open at the question. Sansa can’t even look at him; instead she stares at the far wall. Her cheeks are burning even as his fingers hook under her chin and tilt her head up towards his face so he can press his warm lips against hers.

Oh _yes_ …

Just this once, just this one time. She couldn’t explain her enamor with him, but she did know that she liked to kiss him. His kisses left her warm all over, her body tingling. He kisses her slowly, languidly as if savoring her for the first time. Their tongues slide against each other, passion and heat flaring between them. He rolls his weight onto her, balancing himself on his left arm, careful not to crush her beneath him. His hands slide along her thigh over her gown, warming the fabric against her skin. His other hand tangles in her auburn hair, holding her head in place as his kisses become more passionate.

Her fingers slide under his shirt, tangling in the silver curls that lightly dusted his chest, tugging them gently. He hisses against her mouth, nibbling on her bottom lip and tugging gently.

Oh yes yes _yes_ ….

  
Then her mind started to kick in. Somewhere in the haze of desire her brain was warning her to stop before things went too far. Aegon got there before her however, when he breaks away from kissing her to lean his head against her shoulder, breathing heavily. “Sansa…” he murmurs against her shoulder, “I have to stop before…”

“I know,” Sansa murmurs softly, running her fingers through the soft curls of his hair, “I know…I’m sorry…”

“No,” he says as he presses butterfly kisses along the bits of bare skin exposed at the collar of her small clothes, “don’t apologize….I promised you I wouldn’t take anything you aren’t willing to give me. I only wanted to stop before…”

“I know,” Sansa smiles softly, “I was married before…I’m well aware…I shouldn’t have asked you to do that…it was wrong of me.”

“Why?” he asks her curiously, raising his head to look at her, “We’re married…and if you want that of me I’d give it to you…I’m sure you’ve noticed that I rather like kissing you.”

“I like kissing you too,” Sansa admits, “but I’m….” she can’t seem to find the words to explain the problem. How do you tell someone that you might just be their dead wife’s reincarnation?

“You just?” he quirks an eyebrow, watching her curiously.

“I’m not sure I’m ready for…. _that_ just yet.” Sansa ends lamely, disliking the wording. It wasn’t what she was aiming for but the truth might just make him think she’s crazy.

He nods, rolling onto his back and pulling her up against him so that her head rests on his shoulder and her right hand rests on his chest. “I’m exhausted,” he says aloud after a pause, “would you stay here with me? I know you’re tired too…you were tossing and turning all last night.”

Sansa nods, “I could use a nap.”

“As could I,” he agrees, “tomorrow we’ll be leaving for Highgarden and I still need to deal with matters here in the North with Torrhen before we leave. I think a nap is in order….and then work before dinner.”

“Mmm…” is Sansa’s response as sleep starts to creep its way into her mind, making her eyelids heavy. “Sounds lovely.”

“Are you listening to me?” he grins down at her playfully, “I’m trying to tell you about important matters of the realm and you’re drooling on my shoulder.”

“Not drooling,” Sansa smiles though her eyes are closed, her hand self-consciously wiping at her mouth even though he’s only teasing her.

“Still not listening,” he points out, prodding her playfully in the belly. Sansa squirms against his side, giggling. “Are you ticklish there?” he grins mischievously, his fingers dancing across her belly. She laughs and squirms away from him but he holds her fast, so she retaliates by sliding her fingers along his side. He squirms away from her hands, catching both her wrists to pin them above her head. Leaning close he kisses her lightly, smiling against her lips, “I don’t know how either of us is going to sleep while in the same bed together.”

“I’m trying,” Sansa murmurs as she kisses him back, “you just won’t let me.”

“Mmm,” he says with one last kiss against her lips before falling back against the pillows. Sansa curls up against him, her eyes closed as her body settles against his. Eventually they fall asleep, and Sansa has never slept so well in months.


	106. Chapter 106

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

In the morning Sansa is the first to wake, dressed in riding clothes with her fur lined riding coat over it. She heads out into the courtyard, inhaling the fresh morning air as she goes. They were leaving for Highgarden this morning, and though she hated to leave Winterfell so soon, she was excited to be in Highgarden again. It was warm and absolutely gorgeous there, so different from the frozen North or the smoking mountains surrounding Dragonstone. Her stomach rumbles as she goes, longing for some crisp bacon and a plate of eggs.

Nearby she can hear Balarion, and for some odd reason he sounded particularly agitated. Figuring that wasn’t a good sign she hurries to the other side of the keep, seeking him out.  When she finds him, he’s outside the gates of the keep surrounded by three or four men of the guard. They were trying to calm him, but he wasn’t having it.

“Get away from him!” Sansa orders them quickly, rushing over, “Back away right now!”

The very last thing they needed was for Balarion to make a snack of Torrhen Stark’s guards. It was too late to go get Aegon, he was still sound asleep in bed when she left and he’s on the other side of the keep right now. Instead she sends one of the servants to wake him and tell him what’s going on.

Cautiously with her palms turned out and upraised, she edges towards the reins which are dragging on the ground near Balarion’s feet. The guards nearby call out to her, warning her to keep away from him as well.

“Your grace _please_ ,” one of them says firmly, “Please be careful!”

“What’s going on out here?” Torrhen’s voice now, and when Sansa glances at him she can tell he was sound asleep as well before being awoken by a servant. He was wearing a linen tunic with his jerkin on his shoulders, untied. Clearly he’d gotten dressed in a hurry.

“It’s Balarion my lord,” another guard tells him, “he’s upset…we don’t know why…he just started in.”

_Haessa…it had to be her…_

Sansa didn’t see her anywhere but she had a feeling Haessa was behind this. Dragons were especially sensitive to magic, being magical creatures themselves. Balarion was old and powerful, which meant h probably sensed Haessa somewhere nearby. “Easy,” Sansa coos softly as she edges closer to the reins. She doubted she could hold him for very long. One had to be exceptionally strong to keep hold of his reins without getting their arm pulled out of its socket. Yet if she could swing up onto his back she might be able to hold him a little bit longer if she threw her body weight into it. Balarion growls in warning at her and she freezes in place. He was an intimidating dragon to say the least, but whatever was setting him off was making it worse. “Now stop that,” Sansa tells him firmly, “I’m trying to help you.” If she could just get her hands on his reins she might be able to settle him. He bares his teeth and snaps once in her direction. It’s enough to send Sansa sprawling backwards onto her backside, her eyes wide.

_Fear equals food….fear equals food…_

With a deep breath she climbs to her feet and straightens. Fear is what will get you killed with a dragon, so fearless she must be.

“Your grace,” Torrhen calls worriedly, “Please…”

“Balarion,” Sansa tells him firmly, “You have to calm down….it’s her…I know what she’s doing,” she sooths him gently, “I know her magic is unsettling you….we’ll leave alright?”

He seems to pause for a moment to regard her, his bright gaze leveling with her person. “I’m not going to let her hurt you Balarion,” Sansa tells him softly, “Please….just calm down.” His head has swung close enough for her to grab the reins, and she clings to them with all her strength. Gently she slides her palm along his muzzle just under his eye while he blinks at her thoughtfully. She swallows her fear thickly, knowing if he could smell it on her he might just eat her.

“Sister,” Aegon’s voice behind her, “Don’t move…you have him distracted.”

Aegon slowly creeps up behind her, his hands sliding over the reins in her hands, “Easy Balarion….easy now.” With his hand outstretched to pet the scales under Balarion’s eyes he asks, “What set him off?”

“Haessa,” Sansa replies quietly, “it had to be her. He must be able to sense her somewhere.”

“We need to leave,” he murmurs in reply worriedly. If Haessa could set Balarion off, what other chaos could she create? He didn’t want Balarion eating anyone, that wouldn’t go over well with Torrhen Stark he imagined.

“You may want to put on a bit more clothing before we go,” Sansa replies softly, noting his jerkin is missing and all he wore was a linen tunic with his trousers and boots.

He nods, “I will if you’ll fetch them for me. I need to stay here with Balarion. I’m the only one he’ll tolerate right now.”

Nodding, Sansa cautiously steps away from Balarion and turns back for the keep. She orders the servants to pack their things and have them ready while she grabs a fresh jerkin, his riding coat and gloves and then hurries back out to him. She helps him put them on while he keeps one hand on the reins, switching whenever he needed to put his arm through a sleeve.

“I’m sorry about this,” Sansa tells Torrhen apologetically, “I’m afraid we won’t be making breakfast.”

“Nonsense,” Torrhen tells her, “I had one of the servants pack some of it for you. Perhaps when Balarion’s settled the two of you can stop somewhere to eat.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Sansa smiles at him, “Thank you so much.”

“Think nothing of it,” Torrhen replies.

“Sister,” Aegon calls to her and she glances back, watching him climb up onto Balarion’s back, “I think we should go.”

“Yes your grace,” Sansa replies as she takes the luggage from the servants and passes them up to Aegon so he can stuff them into the saddlebags. Then after taking the breakfast that was packed for them from Torrhen she bids him farewell and climbs up onto Balarion with Aegon. Then take off with a start, as if Balarion had been waiting for this moment all morning. They’d hardly gotten to even say  goodbye when he took to the air with all the speed he could muster.

“Bloody hell!” Sansa says with a start, gripping onto the saddle with all her strength.

“Well,” Aegon laughs, his heart racing and the adrenaline flooding his body, “He’s never done _that_ before.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Sansa asks worriedly.

“Something’s just ruffled his scales,” Aegon calls to her over the wind whipping past them; “I’ve never seen him like this.”

Truth be told, this was kind of scary.

Even Blackfyre wasn’t this fast, and Balarion seemed to be picking up speed. Trembling Sansa digs her nails into the leather of the saddle, keeping close to Aegon’s body which sat behind her. He holds the reins near her waist to help keep her balanced as they go, his warm breath near her hair.

“Relax,” he sooths her softly, “Just breathe.”

“I’m trying,” Sansa replies with a nervous laugh, “He’s just going so fast I can’t catch my breath.”

“He’ll slow down in a bit,” Aegon replies, “Let him calm down.”

 

* * *

 

It starts to rain as they pass over the Riverlands. Forced to land, Balarion hits the ground with a heavy thump and flaps his wings to shake off the water. Quickly Aegon and Sansa take cover beneath his wings, both soaked and shivering.

“We’ll wait for the storm to pass,” Aegon tells her, “Then we’ll head for Highgarden.”

Nodding, Sansa turns to sit down and freezes, staring at the wooden stump before her. Catching Aegon by the arm before he can sit she shakes her head solemnly and then glowers up at Balarion. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”

Balarion only regards her thoughtfully before rudely turning his back to her so they are forced to stare at his hindquarters. Aegon grumbles something rude about the rain as the two scramble to dive back under Balarion’s wing. “What’s wrong with the tree stump?” Aegon asks her as the crouch low beneath Balarion’s wing, watching the rain pummel the ground around them.

“We’re on High Heart,” she explains, “Those tree stumps used to be weirwood trees….this place is _haunted_.” It echoed too loudly for her the memory of when she came here with Aegon’s grandson and spent the night beneath Rhaegal’s wing.

Aegon grins a little, “You believe that do you?”

“I do,” Sansa replies, “Your grandson was just as skeptical…and then one of the dead children tried to steal our food.”

“You _saw_ one?” Aegon’s eyes shoot up.

“Yes,” Sansa nods and then frowns as she gazes nervously back towards the empty circle of tree stumps before looking up at Aegon, “Couldn’t we just fly above the storm? This place makes me nervous.”

“We could,” Aegon nods, “but the wind is strong and it’ll be cold up there…and I won’t be able to see where we’re going without periodically diving back into it to get the lay of the land.”

“Good point,” Sansa replies, shivering as she pulls the hood of her riding cloak up, “Now what?”

“ _Now_ we eat breakfast,” he tells her, nodding towards the bag she was holding with their food.

 

* * *

 

The sit and share bacon and bits of toast, watching the rain fall quietly. Sansa absolutely refused to allow him to sit on the tree stump, warning him of the dangers it posed. Sansa has been dealing with the children for quite a while, and for some reason she has the sinking feeling that they’ve got ulterior motives. While they were on her side, they’ve hidden things from her.

Important things.

Like Oberyn dying for example.

Leaf _knew_ , she thinks to herself. Leaf knew that was going to happen and she let it happen anyways. Sometimes she wondered if this was the end goal, her marrying Aegon. Why did the children want them together? Was it because she was fated to belong to her brothers? Once with Aelarr, Once with Vamon, in different lives and different places but she kept running into them. So what did that mean for the dragon kin? Is that the curse they held? If that was true, then why hasn’t Haessa been reborn yet? Why did she still look the same?

“You’re brooding very loudly over there,” Aegon muses aloud, “Mind telling me what’s wrong?”

“I want too,” Sansa replies softly, “but I don’t know how.”

“Try me,” he replies evenly, watching her thoughtfully.

“It’s completely mad,” she warns him gently, “everything Haessa told me…I know it’s true, I can feel it. It explains so much and yet,” Sansa sighs, “ we made a promise to keep no secrets from one another so I suppose I'll tell you."

He watches her with a little smile, waiting for her to continue. It was the beauty of his mind she thinks, that he could be so understanding and so smart.

“A long time ago there were five siblings,” she tells him softly as she picks up a twig and draws little figures in the sand at their feet, “They lived in Valyria….there blood was of the dragons before them, and they were called dragon kin. Their family was the oldest in Valyria, the one with the purest blood. There were three…. _triplets_ , Aelarr, Daeyra and Vamon. Then came the twins, Haessa and Naesa.  Aelarr was wed to Daeyra, Vamon to Naesa. Haessa was unwed, she wanted no part in marriage. Her heart was cold, and I think it began with her Mother’s death. She died at the hands of humans while her Father looked on, too frightened to do anything. This is what set her off Aegon…” Sansa pauses as she stares at the figures in the sand. The magic in the earth beneath her dances right up the tip of the twig in her hand and into her skin. “My name is Sansa….I was born Sansa Stark. That is who I am now and no other…” she pauses, wondering if she should just tell him or not, “I was also born as Daeyra centuries ago…I’m her sister, or I was at least. Dragon kin are reborn again and again…they are immortal in that way. I’m assuming….and this is only an assumption Aegon, that Haessa still looks the same because she made herself pureblooded somehow. When I died in Valyria, I was mostly human along with my siblings. Yet out blood keeps us alive, so we’re reborn again and again over the centuries in different places and different times. Sometimes we find each other, sometimes we don’t.”

Frowning, Aegon stares at the sand where she draws swirling patterns resembling fire, “So…does that mean Oberyn was one of your brothers?”

“Vamon,” Sansa confirms, “and you’re Aelarr.”

She waits a breath, her heart trembling in fear. She wasn’t sure how to explain that to him honestly. It sounded utterly mad. Then he speaks, and his voice is soft when he replies, “So we’ve found each other before?”

“Many times,” Sansa says softly, “I was wed to you in the beginning of it all. For all I know, that might have just been another lifetime for us. We could have been wed before that as well…I don’t know how far back it goes.”

“Rhaenys,” the wheels in his mind are spinning now and his gaze takes on a whole new light, “I knew you were familiar…I _knew_ it…”

“ _No_ ,” Sansa says firmly as he reaches for her, “Aegon listen to me. I am _Sansa_ , not Rhaenys. I don’t know about Rhaenys….I could have been her…I might have been….but even if I was I’m not her _now_.”

“You saw her fall,” he presses, “it was a memory surely.”

“It might have been,” Sansa agrees, “I really don’t know.”

Sorrow was welling up in her heart as she looks at him. She wanted him to want her, not a memory. Rhaenys was dead and gone and she was here, alive and well. Even if she _was_ Rhaenys in another life, she wasn’t Rhaenys now.  He seems to pick up on the sorrow in her eyes and sighs, “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be,” Sansa pulls away from him, “I understand it believe me. If I thought for even a moment Oberyn might still be alive somewhere…”

“Sansa I didn’t mean---…” he sighs as he watches her retreat from him, “I _know_ you’re not Rhaenys.”

“I need to go for a walk,” Sansa murmurs as she notes the rain lightening up, “I need to clear my head for a bit. Haessa’s just….she’s gotten into my head and she’s toyed with my thoughts….I need to sort them out.”

As she gets up to go, his voice makes her pause, “I know you’re not Rhaenys…” he says quietly, “but it explains a lot doesn’t it? Only Rhaenys ever mended the wounds between Visenya and I…Aenys took to you quicker than he’s ever done with anyone. Can you blame me for wanting to love you again? If you are her, then you are one and the same. How am I betraying you if the two of you are the same person?”

“ _Because my name is Sansa_!” she almost shouts at him angrily, glowering at his handsome face, “ _My name is Sansa_!” It was like a mantra, a chant to remind her that she was still sane. This whole thing was confusing, and now she felt like she was being robbed of her identity. “I am not Rhaenys Targaryen, I am Sansa Stark. I am the daughter of Eddard Stark and Caitlyn Tully Stark. My sister’s name is Arya and my brothers are Robb, Bran, and Rickon. I was born in the North, in Winterfell. Mine is the blood of winter, of the children.” It was like a flood boiling out of her, and she couldn’t seem to stop it, “I won’t have your love if you’ll love me as Rhaenys, Aegon. I won’t bloody _have it_! I deserve better than that Aegon, I deserved to be loved as _Sansa Stark_. I’ve been through too much…I’ve tried _so_ hard…” with a heavy sob she turns away from him, wiping the tears from her eyes, “ _I just want to go home_!”

_Little sister…I think it’s time you came home…_

Sansa gasps, the memory flashing through her mind. Quietly she hoped Haessa didn’t hear her say that. Luckily when she turned, all she saw was Balarion with his back to them and Aegon watching her with a mixture of remorse and frustration. It was then that she sat down on the wet grass and stared out at the sprawling landscape with her back to Aegon, struggling to calm herself. Aegon had openly admitted love to her, and it was only now starting to sink in. Yet he didn’t really want _her_ did he? He wanted an echo of who she might have used to be. She knew in her heart she was Rhaenys, she might not have the confirmation but she knew it was true. After the spring banquet she would visit the children and they would sort this mess out.

 “Come back out of the rain Sansa,” Aegon says quietly as he watches her, “You’ll get sick.”

Stubbornly she refuses at first and then relents as she begins to shiver. Stalking back towards him she sits beneath Balarion’s wing but keeps her gaze firmly elsewhere. She couldn’t talk to him right now, not with her emotions all over the place and the awkwardness that’s sprawled out between them.

 

* * *

 

They flew to Highgarden in silence. When they arrived, Visenya was already waiting for them. Sansa slides off first without preamble, stepping past Visenya wordlessly. The servants greet them, gathering their luggage and taking them to their rooms. Behind her she can hear Visenya speak quietly with Aegon.

 _“What_ happened _to you two? There’s more ice between you than the whole of the North…”_

_“Don’t ask,” Aegon says flatly._

Sansa does her best to be polite, she smiles and greets the Tyrells, she’s courteous and kind. She is led to the guest house and is given her own private chambers, a branch off from the main one she slept in the first time she was here. That one she assumed would be Aegon’s, and the last one would be given to Visenya. She is cold and tired even though the evening air is warm outside. Stripping out of her riding clothes she takes a bath and scrubs away the cold off her skin. She felt cold inside as well, like she’d been swimming in an ice water pond and can’t shake the cold off even after she got out.

A knock at her door makes her tense, but it’s only Visenya. She doesn’t look back at her as she enters, regarding Sansa silently. “Alright,” she sighs, “What did my idiot brother do _now_?”

_Oh nothing really, he’s just trying to make me his Rhaenys replacement…oh and by the way did I mention you’re actually my sister from a different life?_

Instead, all Sansa says is, “It’s nothing.”

“You won’t even look at him,” Visenya says pointedly, “I know that look and I’m rather good at it. He’s done something stupid hasn’t he?”

“Why do you care?” Sansa snaps at her, frustrated with her prying, “What does it matter to you?”

“Because,” Visenya explains as she sits on the edge of her bed, “I think I’ve already told you how I operate. You are a valuable piece on the board, you keep my brother happy. If he’s happy that means the realm prospers…if he’s angry then we all suffer for it. You should have seen the state of things when Rhaenys died.”

Sansa winces at the mention of her, a bitter spark of hate begins to glitter in her heart, “I am not some pawn in your game.”

“Yes you are,” Visenya smiles wanly, “everyone is a pawn in my game except your one of my better pieces…a Queen in fact. Don’t be offended, you should feel honored that I think so highly of you. If I didn’t you’d be dead right now, or at the very least you’d be scrubbing the floors of Dragonstone rather than warming my brother’s bed.”

“Nothing untoward has happened between us,” Sansa says flatly, that was totally a lie and she’s fairly certain Visenya can tell.

“Well _somebody’s_ got to do it,” Visenya tells her.

“Visenya leave me be,” Sansa snaps irritably, “I’m tired and cold and hungry. Can’t you just let me alone for a little while?”

“No,” Visenya replies with that same bitter sweet smile, “Aegon’s thrown me out of his bed chambers because he won’t give me answers either. So that leaves _you_.”

“ _Get out_ ,” Sansa grounds out, slamming the comb in her hands down onto the vanity table before her. She’s had quite enough of Visenya for one day, and she’s only been around her for twenty minutes.

“Not until you tell me why you’ve suddenly given him the cold shoulder,” Visenya says firmly, “what’s he done?”

“He thinks I’m Rhaenys,” Sansa tells her flatly, “he thinks I’m her and he’s just trying to replace her with me…he doesn’t want _me_ , he wants _her_.”

“You do have an uncanny knack for theatrics,” Visenya nods, “and you’re very nearly as whimsical as she was. You and Aegon are complete opposites, and opposites attract. Does it surprise you so much that he connects with you that way? I don’t think he wants to replace Rhaenys with you so much as he’s lonely and you make him happy. You remind him of his lost beloved, as I’m certain there’s a touch of your own lost beloved to Aegon. He makes you feel safe just like your Dornish lover did.”

“I don’t look at Aegon and think of Oberyn,” Sansa tells her flatly.

“And I’m sure he doesn’t look at you and think of Rhaenys,” she replies evenly, “your just overreacting.”

“ _Get out_!” Sansa growls at her, sick of her voice, her face and everything remotely _Visenya_.

With a sigh she stands, crossing her arms, “Well don’t bring your sour attitude downstairs. You two are supposed to be happily married and its Aenys’s birthday. Don’t spoil it because the two of you can’t get along right now.” She turns to leave but pauses, adding as an afterthought, “Don’t be a coward Sansa. So you lost your beloved and you’re afraid now. I lost my sister and yet I still get out of bed every day and face the morning. There comes a point when you can’t let go and it’s holding you back from living your life. If you keep running from what you’re afraid of, one day you’re going to stop and look around and not know where the bloody hell you are.”

With that said, Visenya was gone.

 

* * *

 

The following morning they all meet in the great hall for the precession out onto the field to watch the tourney. She knew Aegon didn’t like tourneys, but he was especially sour this morning. She knew she was going to have to face him at some point, and probably accompany him to the field.

Or not.

When she reaches the bottom of the stairs they’re already leaving and Visenya’s on his arm. Desmor seems to appear out of thin air beside her as if he had some super sense that told him she was alone. “Your grace,” he bows politely, “I would be honored to accompany you to the field.”

“Thank you,” Sansa smiles politely and takes his arm, allowing him to lead her out to the field. Tyrsta smiles they pass by, waving in greeting.

The field is bright and sunny as they walk out, the tents were already set up and billowing in the breeze as people from all over Westeros gather together for the tourney. Desmor leads her up to the platform where Aegon and Visenya are seated and bows politely as he releases her. She neatly lifts her skirts as she climbs the steps and takes her seat to Aegon’s right. All throughout the tourney she can’t help but notice out of the corner of her eye how Visenya’s hand is curled in Aegon’s. She wasn’t sure if it was to support him, or if she was doing it intentionally to annoy her. Stubbornly she ignores it, determinedly watching the match. One of the prizes was a kiss from the Queen, granted Aegon had two. Sansa had no mind to kiss anyone right now, let alone some sweaty knight. As she watches, she notes Desmor Tyrell with his horse wreathed in flowers. It’s such a strong reminder of Loras Tyrell that she could almost laugh. Visenya leans close to Aegon’s left ear, whispering something before giggling. He laughs too and Sansa continues to ignore it, staring pointedly at Desmor just to distract herself.

She wasn’t _jealous_.

She didn’t care that Visenya was touching him, she didn’t care at all. Visenya didn’t even _like_ touching him, so what was her angle? If she was trying to make Sansa jealous, she was wasting her time. She didn’t care at all.

Not one bit.

The cheering crowd erupts as Desmor knocks the final contestant clean off his saddle and into the dirt. He is the winner, taking his bow before the crowd before he circles around with a wreath of bright red roses. “To her grace,” he announces aloud, holding out the wreath of spring roses out to her in offer, “The Queen of Love and Beauty.”

Blushing brightly Sansa takes the offering and smiles politely at him, waving at the crowd as she carries the wreath back to her seat. Aegon’s looking at her oddly, his hand still in Visenya’s.

“And for the reward,” Visenya calls with a bright smile as she glances towards Sansa and nods towards Desmor. “A kiss from a Queen.”

You have _got_ to be kidding me.

She restrains the urge to rip Visenya’s hair out and instead stands, leaving the wreath in her seat as Desmor climbs the stairs of the platform and kneels before Aegon, “My King.”

“Lord Desmor,” Aegon nods politely as he motions stiffly to Sansa, “Your prize.”

“Thank you my King,” he replies and stands, walking towards Sansa. He kneels politely once more, “My Queen.”

“Lord Desmor,” Sansa replies evenly all the while noting the amused glimmer in Visenya’s eyes. She was absolutely _loving_ this. Desmor smiles softly, his eyes on her lips as he leans close and accepts a small chaste kiss from her. Sansa tried to keep it chaste, knowing Aegon’s eyes were on them the whole time.

The crowd cheers and people throw flowers in the arena before Desmor bows again and walks off the platform. She takes her seat again, keeping her eyes on the arena and not on the two sitting beside her. After the tourney they all sit beneath the warm noonday sun under billowing white tents and eat lunch. Aenys is in the seat of honor at the head of the table, delighting in the cake Sansa had ordered for him.

“Happy name day darling,” Sansa smiles at Aenys, kissing his forehead as he grins up at her before they bring out the presents. He is presented with books and paintings, a new sword, and a number of other extravagant things from all over Westeros.

Beside her, Aegon sits with a smile curving his lips as he nods approvingly to his son when shown the gifts. Meanwhile, his hand creeps over the arm of his chair to catch Sansa’s, drawing her hand into the warmth of his. She allows him to rest it on the arm of his chair, his fingers curled around hers while his thumb draws soothing circular patterns on the back of her hand. They were in public after all; they had to be seen as a happy couple. Her heart lurched sharply at the action as well, and it was almost like relief washing over her.

When lunch was over they all set up for a game in the briar maze, one which Sansa was fond of but not keen on after what happened last time. Then again, it was the middle of the day. She doubted Haessa would try anything right now…

When they leave, she’s left behind yet again. Visenya beats her to it, catching Aegon’s arm as they step around the table to make their way down to the briar maze. Quietly she wonders what that hand holding had been about. Was it just for show? Did he only do it because people were staring? Or did he actually want to hold her hand? Why was Visenya all over him? She couldn’t stand him half the time, let alone touch him.

What the bloody hell was she _doing_?

It was almost laughable to think that Aegon would want anything to do with her anyways. He made it clear on many occasions that he wanted nothing from his sister. Their marriage was just that, a political move spurred by duty and family tradition. Aegon wasn’t stupid enough to fall for her false pleasantries…

Sansa is teamed with Aenys, Gyan and Tyrsta, while Visenya teams up with Desmor, Bryeana and Maegor. Aegon remains behind, wanting no part in the game.  She lets the boys lead the way through the maze, running along behind them as quickly as she can. Visenya was smart though, she knew they’d catch up eventually. Turn after turn, they went deeper into the maze. The first team to reach the other side wins, and Aegon would be the one to deal the prize.

She was going to beat Visenya there even if she had to climb over the damn briar bushes herself.

There is a flash of silver out of the corner of her eye and she knows it was Visenya. They were darting side by side down different paths, only glimpsing each other in flashes through gaps in the briar. Aenys and Gyan at this point were the ones rushing after her, because now she was sprinting. This was childish and ridiculous but for some reason she couldn’t stand the idea of Visenya all over Aegon. She was mad at him but she still _cared_.

Turning one corner she spots the exit and grins knowingly, she’s _won_. Yet just as Aenys and Gyan rush past her through the exit, Visenya dives right in front of her, shoves her sideways into the briar and keeps running. Sansa goes down hard, yelping in pain as thorny briar branches scrap her skin and rip her gown. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?” Visenya laughs as she goes, “I _always_ get what I want!”

“You don’t even like Aegon!” Sansa shouts back angrily, still caught in the briar branches as she scrambles to get her skirts free.

“I told you,” Visenya grins at her, amusement dancing in her eyes, “Somebody’s got to do it. I had hoped to pawn him off on you but you’ve failed me. I can’t put it off any longer, I’m his wife…it’s my duty.”

“ _Visenya_!” Sansa snarls at her angrily and dives after her. Just as she rounds the corner Visenya’s already made it to the platform.

She _cheated_.

Sansa is mildly horror struck but also somewhat amused by the fact that Aegon looked mildly displeased to see Visenya first. His eyes shift to Sansa, noting the scrapes on her arms and rips in her skirts. If he’s angry, she can’t tell. He only kisses Visenya on the forehead in congratulations and proffers a goblet of wine to her. Visenya bows and smiles to the crowd as she waves, joining Aegon up onto the platform.

Miserable _cow_.

With a limp she’s struggling to smother she steps onto the platform and takes her seat to Aegon’s right, plucking a stray leaf out of her hair. She had no intention of giving Visenya the satisfaction of her running to Aegon. She cheated but she wasn’t about to go crying about it. Instead she tolerates Visenya’s laughter and her smiles as she delights in her reward, musing as the rest of the people reach the end of the maze.

Afterwards she stalks back to the keep to bath and change for dinner. Aegon and Visenya trail along ahead of her, which irritates her even more. When she reaches the keep she heads for her room, summoning a servant to start a bath for her. In her bed chambers however, she finds Aegon seated on her bed.

“Oh,” Sansa slams to a halt, startled to see him there.

“Did she hurt you?” he asks, watching her limp. “She can be vicious about winning.”

“She threw me into a briar bush,” Sansa says sourly as she walks further into the room, feeling awkward and unsure. They hadn’t spoken since they arrived here.

“I’ll speak with her,” he scowls as he stares out the window, “she shouldn’t have.”

“No,” Sansa winces as she pulls the clips from her hair and unbraids it. Just raising her arms hurt right now. “I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing I told you.”

Aegon nods his voice soft and quiet, watching her bare back as it’s turned to him, “How long are you going to ignore me?”

“I’m not ignoring you,” Sansa says flatly, the ache in her heart burning brightly, “I’m just…I don’t know.”

“I’ve said I’m sorry,” he says quietly, “I don’t know how else to fix this. You know it doesn’t matter to me what life we live or how many times we’ve met….it doesn’t matter what your name is or what you look like, your still _you_. I just want _you_.”

His words touch her deeply, and she fights hard not to weep at them. He believed her, he always did. Even when it sounded completely mad, he still believed her. Yet did he even understand what that meant? Who was she exactly to him? Was she Daeyra or Sansa or Rhaenys? Who was she to him?

“I don’t think I can talk about this right now Aegon,” Sansa says quietly, “I need to get ready for dinner.”

He sighs and stands, heading for the door without a word. She watches him go, her heart aching for him. This was something she wanted to avoid but knew it would happen eventually. Especially after what Haessa told her. She wasn’t going to lie to him about it, or keep such a big secret from him. With a sigh of frustration she strips out of her gown and heads for the bathtub. Maybe they could work it out later.

 

* * *

 

Dinner is an absolute disaster. She spends most of the evening fending Visenya off. That woman was trickery then Margarey Tyrell stealing people’s betrotheds. She was worse than Arya in a bad mood, and Sansa could hardly stand her. How many times did she have to divert that Targaryen shrew in a different direction every time the topic got awkward? She’s careful to keep smiling and be polite even though Visenya’s practically spitting acid in her face.

What was her _angle_?

Why was she suddenly so vicious? What was she trying to do? Frowning she watches Visenya dance with Aegon, the two of them dancing to the step and clap. It was an old traditional song from the Reach that Sansa found to be quite a lot of fun. It was the way in which Visenya slid her arms around Aegon’s neck or ran her fingers down the length of his arms, the way she smiles up at him prettily. Visenya was up to no good.

Aegon would never fall for it anyways, Sansa thinks sourly as she finishes yet another glass of wine. It was easier to distract herself with peach wine then it was to stomach watching Visenya paw all over Aegon.  The worst part is that even though she kept telling herself he wouldn’t fall for it, he kept smiling and laughing, he kept dancing with her and sliding his fingers along her waist.

Had earlier meant nothing to him? Had he come to her only out of duty and not because he cared? What was _his_ angle?

Her cheeks are warm and her thoughts are fuzzy as she watches the people dance, swirling color and glittering lights. It’s almost enough to make her forget the ache of her heart. When she looks to her left however, she very nearly screams.

 _Oberyn_.

He’s sitting right beside her, watching the dance. He looked exactly as she remembered him, his warm dark eyes and obsidian colored hair flecked with grey. He was wearing a silk brocade tunic embroidered with the Martell sigil. When he looks at her he smiles and she very nearly starts to cry. Looking at him makes her eyes hurt, yet as she reaches out to touch him he speaks. “Stop drinking the wine Sansa.”

When she blinks, he’s gone.

What the bloody hell was that? The seat beside her is empty and she was suddenly very dizzy. She stumbles to her feet and leaves the hall, ignoring the murmurs of _your grace_ and the low bows as she passes. She’s halfway up to her room when she spots them, Aegon’s standing in the hall with Visenya….and what she sees can’t possibly be real.

Visenya’s in little more than her dressing gown and her fingers frame Aegon’s face as she kisses him. His hands are settled on her waist, Visenya tugging him gently backwards into her bed chambers. When did they leave the great hall? 

It’s not real…it can’t be…

Aegon wouldn’t do that….Aegon doesn’t want her….

She stumbles back, a loud clanging sound rings behind her. She’s knocked over a pitcher of water that was resting on a table beside her. The world around her is starting to spin as she stumbles away, she can hear people calling her name as she goes.

The ground beneath her disappears and she’s falling…

When the world stop spinning, she’s on the ground face up staring at the ceiling of the guest house, beside her she can see Oberyn watching her, his lips were moving but she couldn’t make out what he was saying…and then suddenly there was nothing but darkness.

 


	107. Chapter 107

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

When she wakes next, there is sunlight glittering through the windows. Her eyes are still closed but she can hear shouting, someone was angry, _very_ angry.  There is loud crash outside her bed chamber doors and it makes her heart race. Her body feels like lead, she could scarcely open her eyes let alone lift her arms. The world is still fuzzy and surreal every time she opens her eyes, the voices she can hear sound as though she were hearing them through a tunnel.

_“Aegon you can’t burn Dorne to the ground because of the actions of one person…you remember what happened last time you did that don’t you? I don’t think Sansa will thank you for it either!”_

_“It wasn’t meant for her Visenya, that poison had been meant for me! She nearly died because of it!”_

_“But she’s not dead is she brother?”_ Visenya’s gentles her voice _, “Go and sit with her Aegon, let her hear your voice and show her that she’s safe.”_

 _“I want that vile snake found,”_ Aegon growls dangerously _, “I want her found Visenya, do you hear me?”_

 _“I shall see it done brother,”_ Visenya reassures him _, “Now go sit with your lady love.”_

The door to her bed chambers opens and she can hear footsteps cross the stone floor before a weight settles on the edge of her bed. She’s in an out of consciousness at this point but she’s certain she can feel her right hand in his, the warmth of his skin driving way the ice in her hands. “You’re so cold,” he murmurs quietly, “You nearly died….the Maesters tell me you we’re poisoned. I’ll find her Sansa…I’ll make sure she is brought to justice.”

Her mind is too turbulent and unfocused to reply. She can’t even open her mouth to speak. Aegon lifts her fingers to his lips and kisses her knuckles gently; cupping her palm against his cheek, “Don’t go Sansa…” he murmurs quietly, “Stay with me.”

 

* * *

 

When she opens her eyes next, Aegon is asleep beside her. She smiles faintly, tracing the lines of exhaustion on his face with her index finger. Sleep was the only time he looked peaceful, his face relaxed. Her heart still ached when she looked at him; she needed to sort these problems out with him eventually.

“ _Sansa_ ,” he murmurs with his eyes closed, his hand reaching up to catch the one tracing along his face. He kisses the fingertips gently, his eyes popping open to look at her. “Sansa, _finally_.”

“What happened?” Sansa croaks, her voice rough with disuse.

“You we’re poisoned,” he tells her softly, “at the dinner. Somebody poisoned your wine.”

“Are you alright?” Sansa asks softly, wondering if he’d been affected at all. Flashes of that night dance around in her head. She remembers now with startling clarity how Visenya had her half naked body pressed up against his with her tongue in his mouth. It fired her blood with anger and burned her heart with sorrow.

“I’m fine,” he says softly, as if sensing the sudden change in her demeanor. He frowns as he looks down at her, Sansa rolling onto her back to stare at the ceiling. She needed to get away from him, she needed distance. “Don’t go,” he says quickly and pulls her back against him.

Blinking she freezes in place, her back pressed against his chest with his arms snug around her waist. “ _Aegon_ …” Sansa sighs.

“I nearly lost you,” he says quietly, “If you died I would have wiped them all off the bloody map.” His voice is dark and frightening when he speaks those last words. She knows with certainty that he meant it.

Tentatively she relaxes against him, sensing she needed to calm him down and if she tried to get away from him right now he’d probably panic. Gently she lifts his left hand to her mouth and kisses his fingertips and knuckles, letting him press his face into her hair and inhale the fragrance. “Hush,” Sansa says softly as the world around her slowly gets a little less blurry and a bit clearer. “Hush now.”

 

* * *

 

The third time around, it’s near evening. Aegon’s gone; the bed beside her is still warm though. He must have only left moments before she woke. She climbs out of bed gingerly, her body sore and her throat raw. She staggers to the lavatory, her legs refusing to work properly. Washing her face in a basin filled with fresh water she then goes to relieve herself before stripping out of her small clothes to put fresh ones on. She needed to get herself cleaned up and find out what was happening downstairs. She didn’t trust Aegon with his temper like it was, he was irrational when he was angry.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Visenya’s voice, flat but observant as Sansa fumbles with numb fingers, trying to pull on her gown and tie it off at the neck.

“I need to go down there,” Sansa says quietly, “I need to know what’s happening.”

“You need to stay here,” Visenya replies firmly, “Aegon’s already on edge, we don’t need him completely losing it because you decided to climb out of bed and stagger your way down to the great hall.”

It made sense.

She had to admit, it made sense. She was exhausted anyways, and she didn’t want to set Aegon off any more then he already was. Heavily she drops in a chair to regard Visenya thoughtfully, “Then you’re going to be my spy.”

“Oh I am, am I?” Visenya quirks an eyebrow at her.

“What’s you angle anyways?” Sansa narrows her eyes at Visenya, “did you suddenly remember you had a husband? You spurned him for _years_ Visenya…don’t toy with affections this way, it’s _cruel_.”

“Oh we’re talking about _that_ now are we?” Visenya tilts her head thoughtfully, “You know I was only doing it to get the two of you moving. Desmor was a helpful ally…I’d planned for a little more fun with him before that Dornish bitch poisoned you.”

“You had your tongue down his throat, I hardly think you we’re just playing with me,” Sansa replies flatly. She had wanted to believe Aegon didn’t want Visenya, not after how many times he told her so, but now she wasn’t so sure. Another thing that comes to mind is Desmor himself. Just by the way Visenya regarded him it obviously meant only one thing…

“If you’d have stayed a little longer you would have been witness to him pushing me away. I kissed him mind you, and he wasn’t very keen on it. I only did it because I knew you we’re watching. You needed a lot more prodding in the right direction then he did however.” she shrugs lightly. “Then you decided to take that little plunge down the stairs and the next thing I knew Aegon was barreling down them right after you and honestly for a moment…” she looks at Sansa solemnly. For the first time she was certain that Visenya was being absolutely genuine, “I thought you we’re dead…you scared the hell out of me.”

 “I saw Oberyn,” Sansa says quietly after a long pause, “He warned me to stop drinking the wine.”

“Well,” Visenya regards her thoughtfully, “That’s one hell of a hallucination.” She walks over to a nearby table and pours a glass of water before handing it to Sansa, “The poison takes a while in the system…it causes powerful hallucinations.”

Sansa drinks the water gratefully, the cool water soothing her raw throat, “My whole body feels like lead.”

Visenya nods, “You’ve been bed ridden for days,” she explains, “It’ll take a while for you to get stronger.”

“Then go down there and be my spy,” Sansa motions towards the door with the glass in her hand, “I want to know what’s being said.”

“Aegon’s deciding the fate of that dornish bitch who poisoned you,” Visenya sniffs, “She’ll be executed no doubt. She broke the treaty between our kingdoms. The banners from Dorne are demanding we hand her over to face Dornish punishment.”

“Tell Aegon to give her to them,” Sansa tells Visenya, “I’m the Princess Regent…I want her handed over immediately.”

“Aegon’s not in a state to be argued with Sansa,” Visenya replies, “Right now, his word is law. I can’t even reason with him at this point.”

“Then I guess,” Sansa groans as she stands, “I’ll have to go down there and tell him myself.”

“No you bloody well will _not_ ,” Visenya tells her pointedly.

“Try and stop me,” Sansa glowers at Visenya.

“I nearly shoved you _through_ a briar bush with one hand,” Visenya watches her skeptically as Sansa fumbles for her shoes, “I’m pretty sure I can stop you from leaving this room.”

“Not if I tell Aegon you’ve been rolling around in someone else’s bed,” Sansa says flatly, a glitter of determination in her eyes. “You don’t think I haven’t worked it out yet? Why else would Desmor be helping you? What’s in it for him? Clearly… _very_ clearly I’m guessing, you’ve been in his bed.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Visenya laughs, mirth dancing in her eyes, “You want to play games with me do you? You think you can win? Let me tell you… _yes_ , Desmor’s quite lovely. He’s a good fuck, but Aegon already knows I’m not entirely faithful. I’ve never had any compunction about him being in another woman’s bed if he didn’t care what I did. We make this marriage work however we can you know. Yet he lives by certain morals, and he won’t fuck anyone who he isn’t married to. I’m not as pious as all that, I’m a woman Sansa, I have needs too.”

There are these moments in her life when she wants to slap Visenya across the face with her shoe, and right now _this_ was one of those moments. The idea of Visenya in bed with Desmor was enough to make her want to vomit to begin with, but it just showed her how desperate Desmor was to succeed. He wasn’t above sleeping with the King’s wife just to get what he wants either.  “Visenya please,” Sansa says wearily, “I’m scared and I’m tired. I just want to talk to Aegon.”

“He’ll be along shortly,” Visenya sighs as she watches her, “Stay here. If I find out you’ve set so much as a toe outside this bed chamber I’ll have you in a carriage on your way back to Dragonstone even if I have to drive the damn thing myself.”

Without another word, Visenya leaves.

Sansa glowers at the door after she’s gone, pacing the room. It hurt to walk, her leg was still sore from when Visenya pushed her into that briar bush. The scratches on her arm were already healing over; they showed like thin red lines across her skin. Patiently she waits, dropping down onto her bed and staring at the far wall. If she leaves, Visenya will probably carry her off back to Dragonstone with or without Aegon’s permission.

So she was stuck here.

 

* * *

 

It’s near midnight when Aegon tentatively peers into her bed chambers. She’s sitting by the window staring down at the moonlit garden, her gaze shifting towards the door as he enters. “You’re awake,” he says aloud.

“I am,” Sansa replies, “I think I’ve slept enough don’t you?”

“Yes,” he smiles faintly, fully entering the room and shutting the door behind him quietly. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Sansa says quietly even though her leg still ached something fierce, “What have you decided about the dornish woman?”

“It’s pending,” he says flatly, his tone and demeanor changing at the very mention of the woman who tried to assassinate Sansa.

“Well I want her sent to Dorne,” Sansa replies firmly.

“Are you giving me an order?” he quirks an eyebrow at her.

“I am,” Sansa replies, “I am Princess Regent of Dorne, I want her returned to my people to face trial for her actions.”

“No,” he says flatly, glaring.

“ _Yes_ ,” Sansa stomps her foot and immediately regrets it, wincing in pain.

“Sansa,” he groans and rubs his face, “She tried to _kill_ you. I want her dead.”

“I want to uphold the negotiations between us and Dorne, you know it will end if we kill her,” Sansa points out.

“I have their Prince,” he tells her, “They wouldn’t dare try anything while Gyan is still living under my roof.”

“As a gesture of good will,” Sansa tells him firmly, “We will release her to Dorne. We will show them that you are willing to forgive the actions of one woman. That you do not want war with an entire kingdom because of one person’s mistakes.”

He glares at her in frustration, his lips a thin line, “Fine.”

Sansa opens her mouth to argue but stops, blinking at his words, “You’ll do it?”

“Of course I will,” he rolls his eyes, “When have I not given you what you wanted?”

“I can think of a few instances…”Sansa quirks an eyebrow as she smirks a little, recalling a few moments back at Dragonstone when he was absolutely relentless about withholding something from her.

“Lemon cakes don’t count,” he lets out a laugh, the irritation dancing across his shoulders fading away before he becomes more solemn, watching her thoughtfully, “Can we talk now?”

Sansa turns away from him to stare out the window, “I suppose.”

“Then tell me what to do,” he says softly, walking over to the window to sit beside her, “I don’t know how to make this right.”

“It isn’t your fault,” Sansa says quietly, “I’m just struggling with this Aegon. It’s hard to swallow the fact that I’m not just me…but I’ve been here before, I don’t even know how many times. I was in Valyria centuries ago…and then I was here with you…and then I was here again three hundred years from now…it’s _mad_. I just want to know that when you look at me…you see _Sansa_ …you see _me_ and not Rhaenys.”

“You don’t look anything like Rhaenys,” he smirks faintly and Sansa grins a little at his attempt to make her smile, “and I know you’re not her Sansa. Yet what I’m getting at…what I’m trying to explain is that you _are_ her. You don’t have her memories, but you and Rhaenys are the same person. I’m not expecting for us to pick up where we left off. I know that won’t ever happen, you don’t even remember that other life.” He sighs, staring thoughtfully out the window, “I just want us to go back to the way we were. You and I were happy. I don’t want this looming over us forever. I want to help you….if you’ll let me. I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

Swallowing around the lump in her throat she shifts on the seat and settles against Aegon, his arms sliding around her instinctively. She buries her face in his chest and sighs, fighting back tears. “I miss you,” she admits softly, “I miss talking to you. Then I thought…well…Visenya….”

“Visenya,” he scoffs, “I couldn’t figure out what she was doing at first. She was acting so friendly. She hasn’t been that soft with me since before Rhaenys died.”

“You kissed her,” Sansa says quietly.

“She kissed me,” he says pointedly, “I wasn’t expecting it. We we’re talking about the tourney and suddenly she just grabs me.”

“Why we’re you in her bed chambers then?” Sansa replies flatly.

“I was just…” he sighs like he doesn’t really want to admit the truth, “I was…I was _upset_. Visenya was keeping me company because you wouldn’t _talk_ to me…you wouldn’t _look_ at me. She danced with me because you wouldn’t….she caught me before I went to your chambers and made a fool of myself. She started talking about the tourney and Desmor and then suddenly she just _kissed_ me.”

“I _wanted_ to dance with you,” Sansa says quietly against his chest, “but every time I tried Visenya had run off with you.”

“Oh,” he says after a pause, “I see.”

“She pushed me into that briar bush because I wanted to get to you first,” Sansa tells him quietly, “and every time I tried to talk to you she was already there.”

“Visenya used to play dirty like that with Rhaenys. Eventually Rhaenys got sick of it and I’d find Visenya in the oddest situations. There was one time when Rhaenys had thrown all her gowns out the tower window and left her with nothing to wear, not even small clothes.  Or my personal favorite was the time she waited until Visenya was holding court and put briarberries into her face powder and gave her a terrible rash. She looked like a giant fireplum.”

Sansa giggles, just imagining the situation. “I’d have put sheep shit in her mattress personally,” she sniffs lightly, “I learned that from my sister.”

“Please don’t,” he grins down into her hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, “as amusing as it would be, we’d all have to tolerate the stench and not just her.”

Nodding, Sansa yawns, “Alright…I think I need to sleep.”

“As do I,” he replies and then pauses before asking, “Can I stay here with you?”

“Every time we share a bed we never actually sleep,” Sansa grins a little.

“I promise,” he tells her softly, “I’ll just sleep unless you ask otherwise of me.”

Grinning Sansa replies, “Then yes you may.”


	108. Chapter 108

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Present Day**

 

“We don’t even know what it looks like,” Howland complains allowed after searching through yet another useless pile of junk.

“I imagine we’ll know when we see it,” Tyrion replies as he lifts an old ring that Sansa brought him once from a pile. “Oh look….I found your sister’s wedding ring. She was wearing it in that picture we found her in.”

“Save it,” Jon replies, “We could give it to Arya.”

“I’ve got an old tarnished crown and a musty book about keys…” Howland muses allowed, “Why would they save things like this?”

“Keys…” Tyrion pauses to look at him, “What else is in that trunk?”

Howland rummages around, “Not much really. Clothing, books….this funny looking star…”

“ _Star_?” Tyrion freezes, “What star? What does it look like? Show me.”

Howland holds up the silver five point star etched faintly with different images. It was hung on a heavy silver chain. Tyrion takes it from him, examining it closely, “I think this is it.”

“Are you certain?” Jon says excitedly.

“Yes….maybe,” Tyrion replies thoughtfully, “It’s got runes on it…this is Valyrian steel so it’s no wonder it’s survived so long. The runes look like different depictions of the weather and at the top there’s this big tree…maybe a weirwood?”

“So,” Howland says as he watches them, “Now that we have the key….what do we do with it?”

“We destroy the damn thing,” Jon scowls, “and end this war.”

“Now hold on,” Tyrion says, holding up one hand to stop Jon, “Not just yet. We don’t know if there’s some sort of procedure to this. It might be as simple as smashing it to bits or melting it under the light of a full moon. Magic is dangerous and _tricky_ like that. If we destroy it now we might risk locking the seasons in place forever or we might release them completely, there’s no telling.”

“Then we take it to the children,” Jon says pointedly.

Tyrion nods in agreement, “You know what’s funny? Sansa found this months ago. She’d cut her hand on it.”

“Bloody hell,” Jon muses, considering the irony.

“Well let’s stop standing around here and take it to the children,” Howland tells them hurriedly.

Jon nods, “Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

**Present Day**

 

Daenerys Targaryen sits under the light of a candle reading a letter addressed to her by Sansa Stark. It was odd, because the letter was over three hundred years old. It had been sealed with the original Targaryen sigil denoting the original stylized crest of Aegon the Conqueror.

 

_Daenerys,_

_I am writing you to warn you of the dangers the witch presents. I don’t know if you’ll ever get this letter but I hope you do. I hope Jon gets them to everyone, I hope he makes it back to the ships and that my family is alright. The witch is named Haessa; she is an immortal dragon kin leading the many magical kingdoms in a war against the human race. Dany, she can’t be killed. She’ll only be reborn if that happens, but she’s thousands of years old which means she fairly formidable. You have to destroy the key first, and then deal with Haessa. My best suggestion is to simply kill her and wait for her to be reborn. Maybe if you can find her again you can change her fate. I destroyed her once, a long time ago._

_I need to warn you about a few things regarding her. She can change her appearance like any magical creature can. It’s a defense mechanism; she can look like anyone or anything she wants. In your time she appears as a white walker, which I think she might be then. Right now, where I am she doesn’t look the same. All I can say is kill her if you can and be rid of her. She’ll only try again if left to her own devices. Since she’s pureblooded she’ll be reborn with considerable magical talent that is much stronger than anything you’ve ever seen in dragon blooded people. That’s a tell-tale sign right there all on its own._

_I also wanted to ask you one last favor._

_Consider this my last request Dany, and please don’t hate me for it. The boy Gendry Waters is a bastard of Robert Baratheon. I’m asking you to legalize him and give him Storm’s End, if only for my sister. I think she likes him even if she won’t admit it. One day, if she wants more of him I want her to be able to have it. She’ll marry a highborn man and live a good life in Storm’s End._

_Please consider it, and please don’t hate me for asking, I know I have no right to ask that of you but I am anyways._

_Sansa-_

Dany tosses the letter down and glares at it. How _dare_ she ask that of her? How dare she make such a request of her. After everything Robert Baratheon did to her family, Sansa had the nerve to ask her to legalize his bastard son. Rubbing her face tiredly she debates what to do with Gendry Waters. If she exiled him, she risked angering the Starks. She had every right to do it, just as she and her brother we’re forced into exile for _years_. Nobody would question it save for perhaps Arya Stark herself.

And yet…

It was Sansa’s last request. She asked it specifically for her sister, because she was worried about her. She wanted Arya to have a good life, and if she ever decided she wanted the blacksmith then she wanted Arya to marry a man, who could provide for her, give her a roof over her head and food on her table. With a sigh, Dany knew what she must do.

 

* * *

 

Kings Landing is bustling with life when Sansa arrives on Blackfyre. She’d be staying for the week until it was time for the spring banquet. There was so much left to do before it started and most of the preparation we’re left up to her. She wasn’t often in King’s Landing save to hold court, and yet after that attempt on her life in Highgarden, Aegon’s been keeping her at Dragonstone with him. This would be the first time in weeks since they’d returned to Dragonstone that she was allowed to leave.

She immediately sets to work on the preparations, Serena Baratheon joining her along with Tyrsta Tyrell and her sister Bryeana. They we’re the beginning of her own personal court. Now that she had a foundation she needed stronger players, people who have more influence in the kingdom. She considered Torrhen Stark, or his wife at the very least. She needed people who could help her if she needed it, people with powerful influence.

For now however, she needed to worry about the spring banquet.

“Lady Serena,” Sansa says as they walk the halls of the Aegonfort on a bright spring morning, “I need you to organize a list of who all will be in attendance so we can decide seating arrangements. Lady Tyrsta I would ask kindly that you request some of that lovely apple wine your family’s vineyard makes for the banquet. I also want to have the dinner outside under the stars. Lord Orys rather enjoys it outside, so I want to humor him. I’ll charge you Lady Bryeana with decorating ideas and organization.”

“Shall we invite the bankers from Braavos your grace?” Lady Serena asks as they walk.

“Yes,” Sansa nods, “The Iron bank has shown us a great deal of hospitality, I want them honored.”

“We could use the valley below the city,” Tyrsta suggests, “The one just north beyond the woods. It’s lovely and wide open; we’d be able to fit everyone out there comfortably.”

“Good idea,” Sansa nods, “We can arrange for carriages to take people back to the city if necessary. Otherwise we can spend the night out there under the stars. I’m thinking tents perhaps, by house of course. Mind which house goes where, I don’t want anyone bickering. I want everyone to enjoy themselves.”

“I was thinking lantern lights,” Lady Bryeana suggests, “to give people light but allow them to see the stars above without dimming the view.”

“That sounds lovely,” Sansa smiles and nods, “I think we might just pull this off ladies.”

 

* * *

 

Later that afternoon, Sansa is busy planning the seating arrangements with the list Serena provided when Tyrsta comes rushing in with a hurried curtsey, “Your grace…the King is here.”

Sansa nods, “I thought he might show up,” she smiles and stands, straightening her skirts, “Thank you Tyrsta.”

Outside a spring rain has left the courtyard muddy as Aegon slides off Balarion and leads him towards the stall. Sansa watches from the safety of the porch, kept out of the rain under the awning above her. Things have been odd between them lately. They have been a mixture of friendship and something more. They had a routine now. Ever since they returned to Dragonstone they’ve been shy of one another when it came to intimacy. Sansa knew it was because Aegon didn’t want to push her, and whenever he kissed her it always seemed to lead to more. They couldn’t just kiss like normal people apparently; they were drawn to each other like magnets.

When Aegon returns from the stalls he smiles as he approaches, rain water dripping off the hood of his riding coat and into his silver curls. Sansa steps back, giggling when it splashes against her nose as he leans close to kiss her on the forehead.

“And how is the planning coming along?” he asks as she curls her arm in his and allows him to lead her into the keep towards his private wing.

“It’s going,” Sansa shrugs, “I was just finishing up the seating chart when you arrived.”

“I really don’t like parties,” he sighs as they step through the double doors of the King’s tower and walk down the long carpeted hallway towards his bed chambers. He needed to change, he was practically soaked through.

“I know,” Sansa tells him softly, “but let’s just get through this one and you can go back to Dragonstone.”

“You’ll be coming with me, won’t you?” he quirks an eyebrow as he looks at her.

“I was thinking…” Sansa says tentatively. She’s been debating this a lot lately, “Maybe I should stay here...In King’s Landing for a while. I thought maybe it would be good for Gyan to be around the court more often.”

He stiffens in response but says nothing, his back to her. His voice however becomes serious and quiet, maybe even a little bit hurt, “Have I done something?”

“No,” Sansa says quickly, not wanting to hurt his feelings, “No…. you haven’t done anything.”

“Yet all of a sudden you want to live in Kings Landing,” he replies quietly.

Glancing behind her, she notes the guards at the far end of the hall and sighs. Throwing caution to the wind she steps into his bed chambers and shuts the door behind her. “Aegon,” Sansa says tentatively, “I just think it would be good for Gyan.”

“ _Lies_ ,” he says flatly, “I can tell when you’re lying to me…you know that. Tell me why you won’t just stay with me at Dragonstone? I thought everything was fine between us.”

“ _It is_ ,” Sansa says in frustration, “I just…I can’t really….” Swallowing thickly, she has no clue how to explain this, “I can’t control myself around you Aegon.”

“Oh?” he pauses, standing up straight so that he can turn to look at her. There was a boot in his hand a tunic in the other, “Do I make it difficult for you that often?” There is wry amusement in his voice, mirth dancing in his eyes. “I would do nothing to besmirch your honor Sansa. If you feel being around me would cause you to abandon your virtue…”

“Oh _please_ ,” Sansa snorts, grinning at him, “I’m not implying that I’m helplessly entangled with you Aegon, I just need some space.”

“You need half the bloody kingdom between us?” he quirks an eyebrow at her.

When did they become so much more than friends? How did this even happen? One minute they were just friends, the next they we’re bickering like an old married couple. She wasn’t even his wife for true; they’d never even lain together. Yet here they we’re talking as if they had. “No…” She glowers at him, frustrated.

“Then what do you want Sansa?” he sighs as he looks at her, “I’ve kept my distance. You and I have been getting on quite well I thought.”

“It’s not like that,” Sansa says quietly, “I want to be with you Aegon. I love being with you…I just keep thinking about what Haessa said…”

“She said you and I were supposed to find each other,” he replies, “You and I have found each other before. If that’s true I’m not about to let you go that easily Sansa.” She watches him get dressed, pulling the tunic over his head as he turns to look at her, “If you’re coming here then so am I. I will give you space…I will keep my distance if that’s what you want of me…but I won’t let you run off to the other side of Westeros without me however.” He steps closer, leaning down to press his lips against her forehead. “You and I are bound as one, in this life and the next, remember?”

Sansa nods, swallowing thickly. Damnit, she should have never come into this room with him. He says things like that to her and her stomach flips and her heart flutters in joy. “You can’t use that line every time you want to convince me to stay by your side you know.”

“It works quite well I admit,” he muses with a grin.

“Oh _yes_ ,” Sansa agrees, blushing brightly.

 There were the moments when she thought she should just let it happen, because the rightness of it felt powerful. Moments when she thought she should just give into what she really wants and screw the possible magical consequences. It was like the cosmos was trying to tell her something…or maybe this was just magic. Maybe it was fate and the curse of the dragon kin to be reborn again and again.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs quietly, drawing her into his embrace.

“I’ve missed _you_ ,” Sansa replies softly, “I also have to meet with the small council in twenty minutes,” Sansa adds much to his dismay.

“They can wait,” he groans, leaning down to press his forehead against hers gently, “I want time with my wife.”

“You see me all the time,” Sansa grins at him in amusement.

“I haven’t seen you since you left Dragonstone two days ago,” he points out.

“And I’m sure you got so much more done without me there to distract you,” Sansa tells him with a grin.

“A little,” he admits sheepishly, “but I missed having dinner with you. Aenys misses you as well.”

“I know,” Sansa sighs, “but Visenya needs me to do this so she can deal with the court.”

“Then let her deal with the small council as well,” Aegon tells her, “She needs to pull her weight too.”

“You _do_ realize she played both of us right into this marriage so she’ll have more time to herself don’t you?” Sansa grins against his shoulder, “She hasn’t had a spare moment to herself since….well…”

 “I know,” He replies, “and that’s my fault…I was so caught up in my revenge and my grief she was left running the whole kingdom without me.”

“You did help though,” Sansa points out, “You didn’t abandon her entirely.”

“No,” he replies with a sigh, “but I was an ass to her frequently, and I was grumpy and rude and held myself up in my study constantly. Do you know…she actually went in there once and literally dragged me out by my ear?” Aegon grins at the memory, “Literally…I was a grown twenty-nine year old man and she boxed me round the ears and then proceeded to drag me out by one of them all the way down to the beach. She told me Aenys has been playing by himself down there and I needed to go spend time with my son.”

“I’m proud of her,” Sansa replies, “I would have done the same thing.”

He nods, chuckling, “I’d better finish getting dressed.”

“You better had,” Sansa replies as she turns to leave, “It’s your turn to hold court today. Visenya should be nearly done, and I was going to do it if you didn’t show up.”

“I’ve left most of that to you two you know,” he points out was he pulls on his boots, “I trust your judgement.”

“Stop trying to avoid court,” Sansa replies sweetly as she goes, “Your soft words will get you nowhere.”

 

* * *

 

There wasn’t a word to describe the frustration she felt when watching them set up out in the field for the spring banquet. They were clearing the open field to pitch tents for the royal family, and set up a wide rectangular banquet table that stretched nearly the whole expanse of the field. There would be a lot of people here, from all of Westeros. It would be the opportune moment to pick people for her court as well as meet others. She didn’t want just anyone either, she wanted to ensure that they were clever and tactful as well as just. There would never be anyone like Littlefinger or Cersei Lannister in her court if she could help it.

“Tyrsta,” Sansa sighs from her seat beneath a wide spread canopy, watching the set up from a distance, “Can you _please_ tell that servant I want the torches spread out farther apart and further away from the table, I don’t need one of the courtiers catching fire in the middle of dinner.”

“Yes your grace,” Tyrsta replies, hurrying off across the field towards the servant.

“What do you make of the courtiers your grace?” Serena asks softly, “My Lady Mother tells me that some of them are rather tricky.”

“They are,” Sansa agrees, “but tricky I can deal with.” Serena grins at a young boy who passes, blushing brightly. Sansa can’t help but notice and turns her gaze to the girl beside her, “One day,” Sansa tells her softly, “You’ll meet a man who will sweep you right off your feet. I want to warn you however that this is a game the courtiers play Serena. They are after your title and your lands. Not all men are that way Serena but most are. You need to be wise who you speak to, who you spend time with. Your every move is a statement to the kingdom. My Lady Mother used to tell me that my courtesy is my armor, and I’m imparting that valuable saying unto you. Remember your courtesies in the face of adversity because it may just save your life one day.” Serena wasn’t more than twelve now, but she was right around the age when Sansa came to Kings Landing for the first time. This is a dangerous place for her; the people here are all after one thing, power. Perhaps much less with Aegon as King and the people still fearful of him, but those craven men we’re still present in Kings Landing nonetheless.

With a sigh she pinches the bridge of her nose, exhaustion weighing on her shoulders. She’s been working since Aegon arrived here two days ago. The spring banquet was in two days, and she needed to make sure everything was ready. “Serena,” Sansa says as she watches the people before her, “I want you to go and remind each of the men out there that we need to keep the tents spaced evenly; I want every house to have at least a small amount of privacy.”

“Of course your grace,” Serena stands and hurries away to do as asked.

It was going to be a long day.

 

* * *

 

That evening she dines with Aegon, Visenya and Maegor.  Aenys and Gyan would be brought to Kings Landing in time for the banquet, as they were busy with their studies back at Dragonstone. Dinner is full of chatter, mostly Maegor telling Aegon all about his day and the things he did during sparring practice. Even though Maegor is a bit crude, and being fully aware of who he would become one day….Sansa still couldn’t help but smile. He had such an earnest expression on his face; she wondered what happened to him to make him so cruel. It saddened her to think of his fate, but even more so to think of Aenys’s. She couldn’t save either of them, but she could be as good a Mother to them both as possible while she still could.

“Father,” Maegor asks during desert, “Are you and Mother going to have a child as well? Shall I have another brother?”

Sansa freezes with her spoon mid-air, the peach colored syrup hovering near her mouth. She hadn’t expected him to say that, and now she was beginning to think Visenya had put him up to this. Her eyes snap to Aegon across the table who swallows his own food before replying, “Perhaps my son,” he says with his lilac eyes on Sansa, “Maybe one day.”

“I want a sister,” Maegor tells him, “Can you have a sister instead?”

“I…well…” Sansa stammers a little, “You can’t really decide the gender of the child Maegor…”

Beside Maegor Visenya is smirking into the cloth napkin she’s using to wipe her mouth. This was definitely another plot Visenya cooked up. Neatly she sets the napkin down on the table and looks at her son, “That’s not polite conversation Maegor.”

“Oh,” he says as she stares down at his plate before looking to his Father, “Forgive me Father, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“It’s quite alright,” Aegon replies, “It’s understandable that you might be curious.” His gaze shifts towards Visenya’s face as he says the last few words, the wheels in his mind already spinning. It was obvious she was behind this sudden curiosity of his. “However I would advise not to ask such questions of people. It’s a personal matter not to brought to the dinner table.”

“Yes Father,” Maegor nods before setting his napkin aside and looking up at his Mother, “Mother may I be excused?”

“Of course my love,” Visenya smiles down at him as he bows politely to both his parents before leaving.

“ _Lovely_ ,” Sansa says as she finishes her desert, “Just lovely Visenya.”

“What did _I_ do?” Visenya blinks innocently at Sansa as she stands and straightens her skirts. She watches Sansa go, struggling to hide the smirk on her face at the other woman’s discomfort.

“You _know_ what you did Visenya,” Aegon sighs as he tosses his napkin on the table, “ _Honestly_.”

“I’m trying to _help_ you,” Visenya tells him stubbornly, “ _You’re_ certainly not getting anywhere with her.”

“I don’t _want_ your help,” he hisses at her, “Sansa and I have an understanding.” It was slightly humiliating that his elder sister was trying to help him woo a woman. He could woo a woman himself if he wanted too; he didn’t need Visenya’s help. He and Sansa had an understanding, and he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. He was afraid it would run Sansa off if Visenya kept pushing her like this. “I would appreciate it if you kept our son _out_ of your plots Visenya.” With that he stands and leaves, glowering at Visenya as he goes.

“Oh _bugger_ ,” Visenya sighs as she tosses her own napkin on the table and sends for the servants to clean the table.

 

* * *

 

In her bed chambers Sansa changes into her dressing gown and is braiding her hair when Aegon finds her. She glances back at him thoughtfully, “I’m not even sure Maegor understands the mechanics of how children are made.”

Aegon sighs, “I can’t believe she did that, I’m sorry.”

“Visenya is Visenya,” Sansa shrugs, “I’m used to her.”

“I hope it hasn’t upset you,” he replies quietly, watching her braid her hair.

“No it’s fine,” Sansa replies softly, “and don’t be cross with Maegor, it wasn’t his fault.”

“I’m not,” he shakes his head, “I know Visenya is responsible for it.”

Sansa nods, “How was court?”

“Long,” he replies with a sigh, dropping down onto her bed. “Can I stay here with you tonight?”

“Yes,” Sansa replies as she ties off the end of her braid and looks at him. This was part of their routine. He would often sleep with her, and she didn’t mind having him close. He was warm and comforting and whenever he slept with her she had no bad dreams. He seemed to actually sleep better too, so that was a plus. She didn’t like the way he would often sit up all night and work in his study. He needed to get some rest once in a while. She knew that this wasn’t helpful when contributing to keeping distance, but he was respectful of her even doing this. She could curl up beside him and feel safe, and all they would do is just _sleep_.

Aegon yanks his boots off and strips down to his small clothes, stretching in exhaustion as he crawls under the covers. Sansa leaves him to sleep for a while, retiring to her study down the hall to work before she finally joins him later on. He raises one arm automatically as she climbs in so she can curl against his side, marveling in the warmth of his body with her head on his chest. These habits of theirs also prevented people from asking questions about their marriage. If people thought they we’re at odds with one another they might start digging for weak points.

“Now who’s the one holding up in their study,” he grins sleepily, his eyes still closed.

“I just needed to finish mapping out the guest plans…” Sansa yawns and closes her eyes.

“So does that mean the roast…” he trails off, drifting to sleep.

_What?_

“Roast?” Sansa blinks up at him but realizes he’s asleep. She grins and shakes her head before lying back down against him, closing her eyes. They we’re both tired, they could talk in the morning.

 


	109. Chapter 109

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

The day they all head down to the field is chaos. Aegon went to retrieve both Aenys and Gyan from Dragonstone the day before, and now Sansa was trying to get them both ready and into the carriage while trying to get herself ready too. Maegor was running through the private wing of the Aegonfort reserved for the royal family.  Sansa catches him mid-run to straighten his jerkin and slick back his hair. “Your hair’s a mess Maegor,” Sansa sighs, “Go and find your Mother…she’ll be cross if you go down there like that. You’re a Prince, you need to look it.” Maegor grimaces and runs off, looking thoroughly displeased at the idea of his Mother combing his hair. He was at that stage where he cared nothing for his appearance and everything for climbing trees and playing in the mud.

“Aenys,” Sansa calls, “Aenys you’re not taking your sword to the banquet,” Sansa calls to him as he heads down the hall with Gyan. “And Gyan I want you in your orange tunic, the one with the Martell sigils.”

“Sansa I can’t find my black jerkin,” Aegon calls from his bed chambers in frustration.

“Visenya has it,” Sansa sighs as she calls back to him. There rooms we’re right down the hall from one another, and they left their doors open so they could hear each other.

“Why does _she_ have it?” Aegon sounds exasperated as he stalks past her bedroom door and heads for Visenya’s room.

“She wanted it washed and pressed before you wore it,” Sansa calls back but she doubts he heard her.

Today….today was going to be difficult.

 

* * *

 

Down in the field the royal family gets settled in their tents, Visenya shares one with her son Maegor while Aenys and Gyan have one to themselves. Sansa agreed to share one with Aegon to save room (and lets just face it, he’ll sleep with her anyways regardless.)

“I hate these bloody banquets,” he scowls at his reflection in the mirror as he straightens his best black velvet jerkin embossed with the flaming red dragons. On his brow rests his crown, and as Sansa passes she can’t help but straighten it atop his head.

“I know you do,” Sansa replies, “but just sit through this and you’ll be free to go home afterwards.”

“Of course,” he sighs as he watches her struggle with the straps of her gown. She was wearing something similar to the day she held court for the first time, it was a gown he’d never seen her in before. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Sansa blushes a little, “You’re very sweet.”

“I’ve never seen that gown before,” he muses, touching the soft fabric of the sleeve, “It looks like Blackfyre’s scales.”

“That was the idea actually,” Sansa smiles, “I thought it would be pretty.”

“It is,” he agrees and then sighs, “Shall we go and greet the courtiers?”

Sansa nods as she takes his proffered arm, “Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

“Your grace,” Gendry says quietly as Dany approaches him early one morning while he was sitting alone on the bow of the boat, watching the sea. He liked to come here and think, it was a good place. This was where he kissed Arya for the first time too.

“Gendry Waters, isn’t it?” Dany asks, eyeing the boy thoughtfully. He looked a little like the Usurper she supposed from what paintings she’s seen. Inky black hair and ice blue eyes, there was a smudge of dirt on his cheek as well. He was tall and burly, his hands were strong looking.

“Yes your grace,” he says nervously, wondering why Dany was looking at him like that.

“I have been told by certain sources,” she begins tentatively, “That you are the son of the usurper.”

He blinks at her, a panicked look on his face, “Your grace…I swear I wasn’t trying to hide anything…I don’t want anything to do with my Father or his life…I just want to be a blacksmith and I was afraid---…” He stops when Dany holds up a hand for silence.

“Do you know why he did what he did?” Dany asks, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“He….he was betrothed to Lyanna Stark and your brother kidnapped her…” he trails off, watching Dany wearily.

“Yes,” Dany sighs as she watches him, “He did kidnap her. I didn’t want to believe it, but he did. It doesn’t mean that I approve of the senseless violence your Father displayed before my family. He had innocent children murdered, my niece and nephew. Aegon was just a babe and Rhaenys was only three.”

“I know,” Gendry replies tentatively, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“It destroyed my brother too,” Dany continues, “My Father…my Mother….Rhaegar…” she sighs as she turns her gaze out to the sea, “At first I wanted you exiled. I wanted you gone from my realm. Yet the more I considered it…I realized that violence and hate will never end if not stopped intentionally. It’s an endless cycle. So I am granting you this and not for your sake but for the sake of another. I want the feud between our families ended…and I want to honor the request of Arya Stark’s sister. I will legalize you, I will give you a title and you will be the Lord of Storm’s End and all the surrounding lands. If you want it…it’s yours. I will give you a day to think on it.”

Gendry just stares at her, mouth agape, “ _Really_? I mean….thank you, your grace.” He watches her leave without another word. It was a shock and a lot to think about. Did he really want to be Lord of Storm’s End? He hated what his Father represented; he hated what his Father did. The idea of taking up that seat was intimidating. He would be the last of the Baratheon line, and would be expected to marry and do all the things entailed in being Lord of Storm’s End.

He needed to think about this.

 

* * *

 

It pleased her to think the spring banquet was a success. She sits at the far end of the table on a platform, seated at Aegon’s right while Visenya was at his left. In the center of the spectacularly long rectangular table the entertainment dancers, musicians and theatric performances was underway. They dined on an array of different foods mixed with an assortment of sweet ciders, wines and juices. Sansa particularly enjoyed the apple cider served chilled. It was deliciously sweet without the after effects of wine itself. She was nervous now about wine all the way around, ever since she’d nearly died from poisoning at Highgarden. She noted Aegon’s lack of wine as well, and knew it was because of the same issues she had. That poison had been meant for him and she ended up with it by mistake.

“Dance with me,” Aegon murmurs near her ear. She smiles as he stands, offering his hand. Gracefully she takes it, letting him lead her out to where people where currently dancing.

One…two…three _clap_ …

Sansa turns, steps and repeats, her and Aegon whirling around each other in a slow pace. This was her favorite dance and she had a feeling Visenya set this up intentionally. She and Aegon missed the chance back at Highgarden, but now they could.

Visenya was absolutely relentless like that.

 “Your admirer has found you I see,” Aegon muses teasingly as he nods subtly towards Desmor. He was standing across the way watching them dance.

Sansa scoffs quietly, “ _Hardly_.” Then she grins, wiggling her eyebrows in the direction of a woman eyeing Aegon like he was a prized slice of meat, “Looks like someone came to see you.”

He glances and pulls a face, immediately turning his back to her and looking at Sansa, “That’s Sharra Arryn….try not to catch her attention if you would please. She’s rather obsessed with me.”

Sansa giggles, “She’s _staring_.”

“Stop _looking_ at her,” Aegon hisses but he’s grinning all the same.

One…two…three… _clap_ …

Sansa eyes Desmor again and finds him near Visenya. She frowns a little but tries to ignore it. Aegon follows her gaze and quirks an eyebrow before looking at Sansa, “I see you’ve worked it out then.”

“You knew she does that?” Sansa asks him softly.

“Yes,” he replies quietly, “We make this work however we can. Neither of us is really interested in the other. We did our duty, now there isn’t any reason for us to carry on as we were.”

“Still,” Sansa pulls a face, “With _Desmor_ of all people.”

The song changes and the beat picks up. Sansa is giggling the whole time as they spin and twirl and step forward, step back, switch partners, and then twirl back to their original once more. The apple cider made her giddy, her cheeks warm and her eyes bright. She hasn’t had this much fun in a while, and she got to do it with Aegon which made it even better. Glancing to her left she can see Aenys dancing with Alyssa Velaryon, and to her right and a pairs down was Gyan, struggling as best he can as he tries to keep up with Serena Baratheon, who wordlessly mouths which way to turn and which way to step just to help him out when he needs it.  Maegor was down there too, smirking at Gyan every time he missed a step and expertly twirling Bryeana Tyrell just to show off.  Maegor had his moments of sweetness, and then he could be a total ass just like Visenya.

When the song ends they clap and Sansa rests her hand lightly in Aegon’s as he leads them back to their seats. When they sit they are served desert and glasses of sweet apple wine. Sansa stares at it tentatively, nervous about drinking it.

“You don’t have to,” Aegon tells her quietly, “The Tyrells only brought it as a gift…they’d understand if you’d prefer not to.”

“No it’s fine,” Sansa takes a sip tentatively, marveling in the sweet crisp apple taste rolling over her tongue. She wouldn’t be seen as a coward before these people. The wine warmed her cheeks and made her relax. She wouldn’t dare drink enough to be tipsy, she didn’t like the feeling. Aegon was just as reluctant beside her. Before her are plates of peach ice cream drizzled in chocolate, which she eats quite happily. She grabs a slice of lemon cake as well, happily nibbling as she watches yet another reenactment of the conquest.

“They always get the bit where we won over the North wrong,” Visenya scowls quietly, “and my hair looked _nothing_ like that.”

“Yes,” Sansa agrees, “but they did get that bit about you being in the Vale right. Do you know that Arryn boy still talks about the time you took him for a ride on Vhagar?”

“Oh I know,” Visenya smiles a little, “I figured he’d enjoy it.” The she frowns and leans over so she can see Sansa beside Aegon, “How did _you_ know I went to the Vale?”

Sansa quirks an eyebrow at her as if wordlessly saying _do you really need to ask?_ Then she replies, “I heard about it.”

“Oh…” Visenya nods, finishing her wine. It was clear she’d caught on, and wrote it off as something Sansa had learned from the future.

The later the night gone, the louder the guests became. Wine was passed around, drunken, people danced and laughed and the children were taken back to their tents to be put to bed. Visenya left early to take Aenys, Gyan and Maegor all back to the royal tents to be put to bed. Then she disappeared who knew where, and Sansa wasn’t about to ask. She had an idea, a very good one at least because Desmor was suddenly missing from the crowd of guests all walking around and chatting, picking at leftovers from desert trays while the servants cleaned up.

Sansa wasn’t sleep however, she was electrified. Maybe it was the glass of apple wine or the sugary treats that she’d eaten but she was wide awake. Smiling she gets to her feet and Aegon follows her, the two hand in hand as they walk through the crowd and mix with the polite chatter for a while. One by one people started to leave for their own tents. Above them the stars were bright and shining and the moon was full and beautiful. It was a night just like she remembered from Highgarden, warm with a soft cool breeze washing over her shoulders and face gently.

* * *

 

“Are you ready?” Aegon asks her after a while and she nods, smiling as she bids the guests goodnight along with Aegon. He leads her back towards the royal tents, specifically the one reserved for the King. Sansa is pulling the clips from her hair as they enter the tent and Aegon speaks with the guards for a moment outside. Yawning, she unbraids her hair and takes off the ruby necklace at her throat, setting it delicately down on a nearby table. Kicking off her shoes she pads barefoot across the rugs lain out as Aegon steps into the tent, his lilac gaze watching her thoughtfully.

“I was thinking in the morning we could hold a farewell breakfast,” Sansa tells him softly, “Something simple…nothing extravagant. I want them to leave with a feeling of comfort---…” Sansa trails off as Aegon frames her face with his hands and leans close, pressing his warm lips against hers. She freezes for a moment, totally caught off guard by his actions. He tastes like apples and chocolate, her tongue sliding along his. She sighs and leans into him, his kisses were always heated and sweet like this. After a pause he pulls back and watches her reaction curiously, a question in his eyes.

For a moment she considers it, blinking up into his bright purple gaze. This man wanted her in a way she hasn’t felt in so long. He loved her; he would give her the moon if she asked it of him. In her heart, there would always be a place for Oberyn but now….now she knew there was room for Aegon too. He’d stolen her heart without her even realizing it and now…now she wanted to give him her body as well.

Her answer is simple and wordless. She leans up as she gazes into his eyes and presses her lips against his, filling the kiss with heat and passion as she wraps her arms over his shoulders. His response is immediate, his hands sliding down her waist as his fingers pull at the strings of her gown. She’s trembling under his touch; it’s been so long since she’s done this. After this there would be no going back, after this she would be his wife in every sense of the word. His warm mouth trails down her throat, across the bare skin of her shoulder while her fingers tug at his jerkin and push it off his shoulders. They are clumsy as they back towards the bed, pulling clothes off of each other, his crown is flung onto a nearby table haphazardly, Blackfyre hits the ground without any preamble or care, his boots are tossed somewhere across the room, her gown is left in a puddle on the ground nearby. Clothed only in her small clothes, She sits on the edge of the bed as Aegon leans over her, his kisses hot and insistent.

“Sansa…” he murmurs against her lips, “Sansa…are you certain you want this?”

“Yes,” Sansa replies softly, “Yes Aegon…yes I do.”

 

 

 


	110. Chapter 110

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: WARNING: There is serious smut in the beginning of this chapter. I would advise if you don't care for that sort of thing to scroll down a bit before reading.  
> With that said, enjoy the chapter!

 

 

 He’s gentle at first, slow and careful. It’s been so long since she’s been with a man like this. In the beginning his mouth is warm over the linen of her small clothes, kisses spread across her breasts, her waist, and her hips. His fingers hook under the hem of her gown and tug it gently up and over her head, Sansa trembling as a blush floods her cheeks. Even in the dim candlelight of their tent she knows he can see the soft flush of her pale skin, the swell of her bare breasts and the smooth angles of her thighs. He is through and delicate, butterfly kisses spread across her bare skin and down just above the red curls of her flower. His fingers explore her inner thighs, warm hands smoothing over the tender skin just below the apex of her thighs. Trembling her fingers tug at his tunic and help him pull it up and over his head before tossing it aside onto the ground.

“Breathe,” He murmurs, kissing her fingertips. She was so nervous and he could see it, his kisses are warm and soothing as he leans low, his bare chest brushing against the sensitive pink buds of her breasts, making her gasp. He presses his lips against her clavicle and then her shoulder, nipping at the skin there. She was starting to dig her nails into his shoulders as she breathes deeply, trying to calm herself. “We’ll go slow…” he murmurs against her shoulder, “As slow as you want.”

Her fingers are deft and gentle as she unties his breeches, carefully pushing them down off his hips. He lifts his weight off of her to help, kicking them off of his legs and onto the floor.  With his weight resting between her legs it’s almost too much.  Her fingers explore his waist, his sternum and his chest and arms. She traces the scars along his back and his sides, along his chest and one she finds right over his hip above the silver golden curls between his thighs.

“What happened to your arm?” He asks softly, noting the scarred skin near her elbow.

“It was burned in a fire,” Sansa says softly, “During the battle for Riverrun.” Then she slides her fingers along the scars of his back, a particular set of them, “What happened here?”

“Balarion,” he replies quietly, “When I was younger….I wasn’t fast enough and I got thrown off his back.”

“That must have been rough,” Sansa replies softly, gasping as he nips on her collar bone. The fur blankets beneath them are soft against her back, adding to the friction. It makes her feel comfortable and relaxed under him.

“And painful,” he agrees softly.  His fingers trail along the apex of her thighs and she gasps at the sensation, his lips smirking against her skin as he adds, “You’re so wet for me.”

“It doesn’t take much with you believe me,” Sansa breaths aloud, blushing because she actually didn’t mean to say that out loud. He chuckles against her shoulder in response and she swats him playfully, “stop laughing.”

When his fingers test her, she can’t help but arch her back and press against them. It stung at first; her body was unused to the intrusion. He slides low and tastes her then, his fingers and mouth exploring her body until she’s flying so high she could burn bright like the stars in the sky above them. Her hips move of their own volition, thrusting against his hand and his mouth. She’s trembling with need when he abruptly stops and she can’t help the cry of loss from her mouth when he does. When he slides back up her body she can feel his desire, warm and hard like steel pressing against her body. He kisses her then, heated and passionate with his right hand curling in her hair and his left bracing against the pillow beside her head. She’s so distracted by the kiss that she hardly notices his right hand sliding between their bodies, guiding his cock between her thighs. Instinctively she lifts her hips and drapes her legs over his thighs.

When they’re bodies are joined it stings at first but slowly it becomes pleasurable. They rock against each other, Aegon murmuring words of encouragement as Sansa gasps and cries out, making little noises in the back of her throat. He claims her in different positions, their bodies twisting together in a symphony of passion. Sansa babbles odd things, mostly encouragement and sometimes filthy things that would had made Septa Mordane blush. Aegon finishes first, gasping quietly against her shoulder. Sansa follows, his fingers sliding against her as he pushes her right over the edge. Afterwards they lay tangled together, Aegon’s head against her chest as she slides her fingers through his sweaty silver golden curls.

They fall asleep like that, and later in the early morning hours just as dawn is glimmering on the horizon he wakes her gently so he can have her again, gentle and insistent as he lifts her into his lap and lets her ride him. When they were done Sansa slumps against him, sleepy and exhausted. He grins and kisses her softly, thanking her as she rolls off him and they curl up together again.

 

* * *

 

Sansa wakes around noon and groans at the sun glittering through the cracks in the tent, shining in her eyes. Aegon’s still snoring beside her and she prods him gently in the shoulder to wake him, “Aegon…it’s late…we need to get up.”

He groans and rolls away from her reach, covering his head with a pillow, “Five minutes.” He grumbles though it was barely understandable, muffled by the pillow over his head.

“Two,” Sansa replies as she roles out of bed, sore all over but in a good way. If she didn’t get her clothes on soon Visenya was probably going to come prancing in here and catch them. She couldn’t bare Visenya’s smug looks right now; she’d only just woke up.  She tugs on a soft sand silk gown the color of the sky at dawn and quickly twists her hair into a simple but elegant braid. “Aegon get up,” she reminds him gently.

He groans and tosses the pillow over his head to one side before rolling out of bed. He kisses her cheek as he passes, naked as the day he was born. She can’t help but peek, watching the roll of his muscular backside or the strength in his back as the muscles ripple beneath his skin as he moves. Without looking at her he says, “If you keep staring, we’ll never leave this tent for breakfast.”

“I’m not _staring_ ,” Sansa says quickly, averting her gaze quickly as she puts the last clip into her hair and slips on her shoes.

“Staring,” he smirks, kisses her with a bit of heat in passing and searches for a missing boot. “Have you seen my other boot?”

“Um…” Sansa turns in a circle as she looks, frowning when she doesn’t see it. Then she spots it, or at least a part of it. It must have been thrown clean through the tent flap doors. Blushing brightly, she jerks her thumb towards it, “I found it.”

“Oh bloody hell,” he says when he spots it, heading over to the doors to grab it.  They luckily had a sitting room just outside the bed chambers, which meant it wasn’t actually outside for everyone to witness it. Tugging the boot on he quickly straightens his hair and the two of them hurry with as much grace as they can muster out into the bright morning sunshine.

 

* * *

 

Today was one of those days when she was grateful for Visenya’s sharp mind. She’d already had an entire breakfast set out for the guests and people were eating happily while Visenya sits at the head of the table eating. They all stand and bow as Aegon and Sansa pass, taking their seats at the head of the table with Visenya. Around them, people we’re pulling down tents and servants we’re helping pack carriages and wagons. The table was already half-empty, so they missed most of the breakfast. Aenys and Gyan along with Maegor we’re already on their way back to Kings Landing in a carriage. Visenya is watching Aegon and Sansa thoughtfully, smirking over the rim of her glass. It was obvious she knew what was going on.

“Too much to drink last night?” Visenya asks lightly, unable to keep the amusement out of her voice.

“Possibly,” Aegon replies, “Where are the children?”

“On the way home,” Visenya tells him as her gaze shifts towards Sansa, “Sister…you _may_ want to pull your sleeve up a bit higher…”

Blushing, Sansa yanks the ties on her sleeve up higher to shield the purpling mark on her shoulder where Aegon nipped just a little _too_ hard in the middle of their passions the night before. There was no hiding it now, Visenya knew. She looked entirely too smug to be healthy at the moment. When breakfast was over they all headed back up to the Aegonfort. Sansa rode in a carriage with Visenya and Aegon, pointedly ignoring Visenya’s prodding questions. Aegon humored her though, replying in riddles that she had to sit and work out just to see how long it would take her.

 

* * *

 

Visenya Targaryen has made mistakes before, she wasn’t afraid to admit that. She was ambitious and sometimes her ambition got her into trouble. Sansa Stark however, wasn’t one of those mistakes. She grins as she watches them from the terrace above as Sansa and Aegon prepare to leave for Dragonstone with Aenys and Gyan. Maegor stands beside her, leaning on the railing as he watches. Aegon waves to them and they wave back, Visenya smiling brightly at her brother and family.

“You see my love,” Visenya says as she watches Sansa and Aegon, smiling at each other in the way that only lovers can. It had worked out so nicely; she couldn’t have planned it better. “People are easy…you just have to find out what makes them tick. Your Mother only needed purpose…and your Father gives her purpose. She makes your Father happy which in turn makes the realm prosper. They feed off each other, giving each other purpose and hope which in turn helps _us_. When your Father is happy everyone gains from that, and with any luck we’ll get a babe from Sansa.” She grins down at Maegor, “I told you I could get you a sister.”

“Will she have one Mother?” Maegor asks curiously, looking up at his Mother. The idea of having a sister was pleasing. Aenys had everything, he was the crown prince and he would get Balarion when he came of age. Maegor would get nothing…unless his new Mother bore his Father a _girl_. She would belong to _him_ , she would be his wife one day. Aenys was already promised to Alyssa Velaryon, so his Father would have no choice in the matter.

“Possibly,” Visenya replies thoughtfully as she looks down at her son, “If the gods are willing…she might just give you a sister.”

 

* * *

 

When they return to Dragonstone, Sansa couldn’t be happier. There was that dread in the pit of her stomach that she’d have to go and visit the children, but she tried not to think about that. Right now it felt like the cosmos had finally got the stars aligned correctly and everything was as it should be.  Aegon was particularly cheerful too, he even hugged Visenya farewell before they left. She’d never seen him do that before, and Visenya even looked thrown by it.   

The morning was particularly crisp and clear as Sansa worked in her study when Aegon arrives, wielding a breakfast tray. “Breakfast?” he asks as he enters.

“Yes please,” Sansa tells him with a smile, “I was wondering…do you have Rhaenys’s journal?”

“I do,” he says as he sets it down on the table, “Why?”

“I want to look at it…if that’s alright. I want to read the entry about the dream she had of me coming here.” Sansa helps him set out the breakfast, bowls of porridge and sweet orange juice.

“Alright,” he says as he eats, regarding her thoughtfully, “You think it will help?”

“Yes,” Sansa replies, “Aegon…have you ever read her journal? I mean the whole thing…”

“No,” he replies, “She usually told me everything so I never felt the need to.”

“I want to read it,” Sansa replies, “Just…it’s only a hunch. I was hoping maybe she’d have something to say about the white walkers.”

“She told me a lot of things,” Aegon replies as he sips his juice, “but I don’t recall anything about mystical keys or snow people.”

Sansa nods as she chews, rolling the ideas around in her mind before replying, “It’s just curiosity I suppose as well. If I was actually her at some point…maybe I was onto something before I died.” She winces at how that sounded, stealing a peek at Aegon from under her eyelashes. He seemed ok with it. There was a flash of something in his eyes, something like sorrow before it was gone. That was normal though. Even though she’s given Aegon her heart, she still loved Oberyn and always will. It still made her sad to think of him, as she imagined it made Aegon sad to think of Rhaenys….even though she was _technically_ Rhaenys reincarnated.

“I’ll ask the children when I get there,” Sansa replies softly.

“I was thinking…” Aegon says after a long pause, “I want to clear out Rhaenys’s room. I’ve been doing it for a while now, I just never told you. Bit by bit, I couldn’t bear the idea of the servants doing it, they didn’t know her…they don’t care, so I did it alone. I want...perhaps…if you want anything of hers, it was yours after all…”

Sansa smiles faintly at him, “I think perhaps…I mean I’ll look…but…I…” she sighs, trying to find words to explain it.

“I understand,” he replies like always. He always understood her without even having to try. “I’ll leave them in there for you to look at.”

“Thank you,” Sansa smiles and finishes her breakfast, setting her spoon aside, “Now then…you promised me a ride through the country.”

 

 


	111. Chapter 111

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

The morning she leaves for the tree beyond the wall, it’s cold and grey outside. Fog washes over the land like a thick blanket and it’s chilly enough to make Sansa want to stay in bed. Aegon is pressed against her side, his strong arms curled around her in sleep. She has to gently pry herself loose to get out of bed, kissing him lightly before she gingerly stands and gets dressed. She pulls on her warmest clothes because she knows that beyond the wall it’s always winter. She dreads it just a little, being in the spring for so long has made her forget the hardships of the winter. Once she was dressed, there was one thing she had to do before she left.

Quietly she leaves Aegon sleeping and walks down the long corridor towards Rhaenys’s room. There was no more room for lies anymore, no more time for deception. She wanted the truth, and she wanted it all. Methodically and with as much respect as she can, she searches Rhaenys’s room. She pulls back the rugs, searches beneath the bed, between the mattresses.

“If I we’re hiding something…where would it be?” Sansa frowns as she looks about the room, trying to decide where she would have put it. This room was twice as big as the Northern wing; it had a lot more places to hide things. Admittedly Sansa knew very little about Rhaenys, she knew the woman had been whimsical and she was a dreamer. If Rhaenys knew anything before she died, she’d keep the secret safe. It surprised her honestly that Rhaenys never imparted such things on Aegon, because she tells Aegon everything. With a disappointed sigh she turns in a circle, stepping over the lumpy fluff of carpet beneath her.

Wait… _lumpy_?

Yanking the carpet up, she realizes two things immediately. One, this wasn’t just any sort of fur carpet, this was direwolf fur. Two, Rhaenys had painted something on the underside of it. Something that made anger burn in her blood.

It was the tree.

The only way that Rhaenys could have known what that tree looked like is if she either dreamed it, or she went there at some point. If Sansa could bet gold dragons, she would put them all on the theory that Rhaenys had been there. Why else would she have painted it on the underside of a carpet made out of direwolf fur? If Rhaenys had been to the tree, it meant that Leaf was hiding things from her again. It meant that she has been _played_ …it also made her wonder what the children we’re _really_ up to.

A sharp spike of fear races through her heart…what if Bran was in danger?

It takes Sansa five minutes in total to reach Aegon’s study. Two staircases, three corridors and one left turn and she was standing in front of an antique bookshelf sorting through old Targaryen family artifacts for Rhaenys’s journal. Once she has it, she knows she’s seen it before too. It was in that old trunk full of junk she found when helping Tyrion sort through the things Daenerys had brought up. Leafing through it, every page is in high Valyrian, every word is scribbled hastily and she has to sit for a while to sort out which entries mean something and which are just day to day things. It makes her heart ache for Rhaenys, who must have lived a very solitary life despite having siblings and a family. She must have felt isolated, knowing things that were to come but unsure of how to prevent them or if she should prevent them. Rhaenys was no greenseer, but she had the sight. The Targaryens had this sort of magic in their blood too, and connecting together what she knew about people with magical blood it was probably a trait found in every race of magical being.

_I saw a child with hair of flames, a child lost in the world and cold in the darkness. Around her swarmed lions of every size, a vine of creeping roses twisting at her feet, above her was a snake with bright red scales, coiling its tail around her wrist as if to seize her up and pull her to safety…_

Rhaenys wasn’t just dreaming about random events, Sansa realizes quietly. Rhaenys had been dreaming about _her_ specifically, on several occasions.  It made sense she supposed, as she would dream of Rhaenys at times as well. Maybe it was something to do with being reincarnated, maybe she would always dream of future lives or past ones.

_I dreamt of a girl with hair like moonlight kissed with flames, a girl who danced in the rain and ran through roses being chased by a boy with hair like starlight, but his heart was cold and his eyes were hungry. He coveted the girl with deep desire, but the girl loved him not the same way…_

Well that one certainly threw her off.

She could think of no one who would match that description, and now she began to see why Visenya thought she was nothing more than a rambler. Sometimes what she saw made no sense, and it matched nothing with the world around her.

It takes her another twenty minutes of sorting through odds and ends, bits and pieces of ramblings that made literally no sense until one piece stopped her short.

_I dreamt of fire, burning bright. A land of molten fire and at its heart shown a brilliant silver star, resting like a crown atop the burnt branches of a great tree…._

A _star_?

Why did that sound so familiar? Tapping her fingers lightly on the desk where she sat, she pondered this. Morning daylight outside was giving way to midday, and she was still no closer to the truth. Yet as she drums her fingers she recalls something, a distant memory of a silver necklace cutting into her hand….

With a gasp she freezes, touching the palm of her hand where she’d cut it upon the silver points of the necklace. It had symbols on it, didn’t it? A tree, if she recalled correctly. If that had been the key, then where was it in _this_ time period? How was she supposed to tell the others she’d found it?

_A land of molten fire…_

Oh bloody hell….Rhaenys was talking about _Valyria_.

 

* * *

 

Considering her recent discoveries, Sansa was taking no chances with the children. She wouldn’t go anywhere near them if she could help it. A bad feeling had welled in the pit of her stomach about them and refused to go away. When Aegon came in for supper that evening he noticed her silence, and excused the children so they might talk alone about it.

“What have you found?” Aegon says, half-way already expecting the answer.

“She knew I was coming….there’s a painting of the tree under a rug in her bed chambers…the rug was made of direwolf fur,” Sansa tells him softly, “and I looked through her journal….some of it….” Sansa trails off with a sigh. She can’t tell Aegon the truth about the key just yet, Visenya perhaps, but not Aegon. They both needed to remain here to preserve the timeline. She couldn’t risk changing history and getting one or both of them killed in her quest for key. Visenya would be wise; she’d understand the importance and would stay home if Sansa explained why. Aegon was not so reasonable, not when it came to love. Aegon was like her in some ways, passionate about his causes and he loved her, she could see that quite clearly. Aegon would never let her go alone to Valyria.

Going to Valyria alone was dangerous all on its own.

She knew next to nothing about it, other than that when people go there, they disappear and never return. Visenya would be able to guide her most likely, or at the very least give her an idea of where to start. Avoiding the children was wise and unwise when it came to this though, the children could tell her things that Visenya couldn’t. It left her wondering if she should go and see them anyways, but she would leave that to Visenya. Visenya was first and foremost, a warrior. She would know whether it was wise or not, whether it was a good move or not.

“Direwolf fur…” Aegon ponders, frowning in thought, “I remember her requesting that of Torrhen Stark a few years ago. It was a gift for her name day. I could never quite understand why she suddenly had a desire for direwolf fur when she’s never really cared for things like that before. She despised hurting anyone, even animals. The idea of someone doing that was abhorrent to her, and yet she wanted that fur.”

“She was trying to tell me something,” Sansa says softly, “I think she was expecting me to find it.”

“Do you think she knew of the children too?” He asks, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“I do,” Sansa nods, “she’d painted a picture of the tree on the other side of it. I think she wants me to go there but I don’t trust them…they’ve been hiding things from me.”

Aegon is silent, his back to her as he stands to turn and face the window, staring out into the darkness in thought. After a while he says quietly, “I feel as though she hid things from me. I never knew she’d done this. I wonder what else she’s done that I knew nothing about.”

Considering the stories surrounding Rhaenys….maybe she didn’t want to go there with him just yet. There were rumors that she used to keep male company when he spent nights with Visenya. These rumors _might_ have just been rumors, but it wasn’t something she wanted to point out to him right now. “I’m sure she kept it from you for a good reason,” Sansa tells him softly, “to protect you.”

Guilt….a whole lot of guilt.

She was hiding the knowledge she held about the key and Valyria from him for his own good.  She takes a sip of her wine to wash it away, soothing her nerves and calming the unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach. Whether she liked it or not she might just have to go to the children. She wanted to know their true motives, and whether or not Bran was in danger of them.

“She always did that,” he frowns, “she did that when she left for Dorne…and it got her killed.”

Oh…oh _now_ she knew where he was going with this…

“Aegon…” Sansa says tentatively, “I need to deal with this.”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I forbid it. The last time you tried to protect me it got you killed,” he says darkly, determinedly, “I refuse to allow it again.”

“I was doing my duty by you,” Sansa argues, standing, “I was the Queen and we needed Dorne in the fold!”

“Not at the expense of your _life_ ,” he snaps back sharply, whirling to face her.

How in the hell did this conversation suddenly spin so far out of control? He looked positively thunderous facing her, and she was certain there was anger burning in her eyes too. Since when did she refer to herself like she was Rhaenys anyways? She supposed there was no denying it now, but she’d never spoken to him like she _was_ her.

“You are worth more to me then my own life Aegon,” Sansa tells him pointedly, “I would risk what I must for you. We needed Dorne in the fold…I don’t…” Sansa sighs wearily, “I don’t remember that life very much…I don’t remember my reasons or my thoughts….I just know that in any life I’d do anything for you…literally _anything_ ….”

Stepping around the table she walks towards him, resting her hand on his shoulder gently, “Aegon please….I know your worried….but I’ll be fine.”

“No…” he shakes his head firmly, “Absolutely not.”

“Stubborn,” Sansa scolds lightly, “stubborn dragon.”

“Just when it comes to your safety,” he counters as his hands settle on her waist. Dipping his head he catches her lips warmly with his, insistent passionate. He backs her towards the dining room table, absentmindedly she wonders if he’s using this to distract her but at the moment she didn’t really care.

Maybe a little…sex on the dining room table may not be a good place for such activities.

Aegon was having none of it however, and made that clear when he knocked bowls and plates aside and lifted her up onto the table. She wouldn’t be able to sway him now and she knew it.

Ok, he’d probably stop if she demanded it.

She didn’t _really_ want to stop though.

As they make love on the table, yanking her skirts aside up over her hips, untying his breeches, the rip of material when he gets frustrated trying to get her under clothing off, she silently hopes nobody walks in on them. She’s fairly certain the servants will take the hint considering they weren’t exactly being quiet. His hands grip her hips as he settles her legs on his shoulders, standing at the edge of the table as they rock together. He’s never been quiet this rough with her, but she wasn’t complaining.

 

* * *

 

He spends the majority of the night apologizing for his behavior. She told him she liked it, that he didn’t hurt her, that she wanted him too over and over again, and let him hold her until he calmed down.

Yet as she lay in his arms later that night, she knew she had to go see the children. She knew it in her bones, that avoiding them was no longer an option. She accepted who she was, that she was Sansa Stark and Rhaenys Targaryen. That she was Daeyra….that he was Aelarr.

There came the very real risk that she’d never see him again. That risking her own life would probably get her killed, but her family was in danger back in the present, and she knew where the key was to put an end to it all.

She gets up when the sun is barely creeping over the horizon and gets dressed in her riding gear, sliding the snake dagger into her belt and Rhaenys’s bow over one shoulder. With her leather riding hood up and her auburn braid slung over one shoulder, she crept out into the stables and readied Blackfyre to head out for a ride beyond the wall.

 

* * *

 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Visenya’s voice, irritating and smug.

Sansa rolls her eyes at the sound, pulling on the reigns to halt Blackfyre’s progression outside. Visenya was on the back of Vhagar, just flying in to land.

“Out for a ride,” Sansa tells her nonchalantly.

“At six in the morning?” Visenya quirks an eyebrow, “Rubbish, you’re never up before Aegon unless you have to be somewhere.”

“Leave it Visenya,” Sansa sighs.

“I know where you’re going,” Visenya tells her, “and I’ll tell Aegon everything if you go without me.”

“You know nothing,” Sansa frowns at her.

“Oh I do,” Visenya grins knowingly at her, “You’re running off to see the Children…I’ve got spies everywhere, why do you think I’m here? It isn’t because I’m overly fond of early morning flights I’ll tell you that.”

“Bloody hell,” Sansa glowers at her, “Do you know _everything_ I do? Whose been spying on me?”

“I know you fucked my brother atop the dining room table last night, and in the hall….you two couldn’t even be bothered to hide….it’s shameful _honestly_.”

“You…that….that…” Sansa stammers, a flush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks.

“I’m coming with you,” Visenya tells her, “You need protection. My brother might have confidence in your skills with that bow but I’m afraid you’ll just embarrass yourself when it comes down to it. That and I’m certain the children have more skill in battle then you do….so I’m coming.”

“The hell you are,” Sansa tells her flatly, “Your safety is important. You two have to live….it would change history if something happened to you.”

“And how do you know it wouldn’t change history if something happened to you?” Visenya asks, steering Vhagar around to follow Blackfyre.

“I wasn’t in the history books,” Sansa points out.

“That can be easily managed,” Visenya shrugs, “Secrecy and all.”

“You two live till ripe old ages,” Sansa adds, “You can’t die out there with me.”

“Who says I’ll get killed?” Visenya quirks an eyebrow.

“I don’t want to run the risk,” Sansa glowers at her.

“I’m still coming,” Visenya tells her as they both take off into the air, “Vhagar is bigger…don’t think you’ll outrun me.”

“One of us has to stay behind,” Sansa argues, “Aegon will go mad when he realizes we’ve both gone.”

“He can deal with it,” Visenya shrugs, “I’ve arranged a man to explain our absence. You and I left early this morning to deal with an uprising in Dorne.”

“ _Is_ there an uprising?” Sansa asks, panic stricken.

“Not _yet_ ,” Visenya grins wisely at her, “Just wait.”

“An uprising in Dorne might not be the best plan right now,” Sansa frowns, “he’s still a bit cross with them.”

“Oh for certain,” Visenya grins, “Don’t worry…it won’t be terrible. Just a bit of rioting…we need a cover story.”

“How did you convince people in Dorne to riot?” Sansa sputters, looking indignant and irritated.

“Do you honestly think they need convincing?” Visenya laughs, “I get a two for one bargain out of it. My man in Dorne sets them off, drops a few rumors and finds out who starts rioting. We root out the traitors in one go.”

They fly on for a while, the wind getting colder the farther North they go. Finally Sansa asks, “How did you find out about where I was going?”

“Oh I didn’t actually know,” Visenya grins at her, “You told me everything I wanted to know. My spies mentioned you being secretive and jumpy lately so I had a feeling you were up to something.”

Gaping at her Sansa pointedly looks away.

Sometimes….sometimes she wanted to slap Visenya with her shoe.

 

* * *

 

When they reach the tree its dark out and the stars glitter in the sky overhead. “Leaf!” Sansa calls as she climbs down off Blackfyre and starts towards the tree, “Leaf come out!”

“ _This_ is the tree?” Visenya asks sourly, frowning up at it, “It looks like an old boot left out in the rain.”

“You have to see it in the sunlight,” Sansa tells her, “It’s lovely, truly.”

“Have you found it?” Leafs voice cuts into their conversation and it’s so sudden Sansa jumps backwards towards Visenya, startled.

“Sweet Mother, Leaf…” Sansa groans tiredly, “You scared the blazes out of me.”

“ _Where is it_?” Leaf demands aloud, urgently.

“ _Who_ …are you talking to?” Visenya asks, watching Sansa skeptically…and maybe just a little bit worriedly.

“Oh,” Sansa tells her, “You just can’t see her…Leaf,” she says as she turns to the child, “Let Visenya see you.”

“She’s _kin_ ,” Leaf sniffs, “If she wants to see me she can.”

“Visenya you _can_ see her,” Sansa relays the message, “apparently you just don’t want too.”

“Oh this is _ridiculous_ ,” Visenya rolls her eyes, “I’ll be managing the dragons,” she tells Sansa before turning to stalk off back towards Vhagar and Blackfyre.

“It’s in Valyria,” Sansa tells Leaf, “On top of some burnt looking tree.”

“The fire trees,” Leaf nods thoughtfully, “Of course _they_ would have it.”

“Ok,” Sansa tells him softly, “Bit of a problem with that. _We can’t go to Valyria_.”

“You have to,” Leaf tells her pointedly, “ _You have to go and get the key_!”

“But why _me_!?” Sansa snaps at Leaf, “ _What are you hiding from me_?”

“It has to be you,” Leaf says pointedly, “I know what I know and what I know you cannot. You’ll know when you know.”

“Oh _that’s_ helpful,” Sansa rolls her eyes wearily. “ _Leaf I want to know what’s going on or so help me I won’t do it_. I won’t do a _damn thing_ until I know my brother is safe. Until I know you aren’t going to turn on me. Prove to me that you’re on my side.”

She regards Sansa for a moment longer before she replies, “Do you know who you are now?”

“I do,” Sansa replies softly, meeting her gaze evenly.

“Then you must understand….we do not agree with her ways…with her laws. We want peace…we’ve lost too many to continue on in war. Let the humans keep the land only let us survive and live in peace beyond the wall. She wants us to join her but we refuse.”

“So what does that have to do with me?” Sansa replies watching Leaf pace before her.

“Everything,” Leaf says quietly. “You must understand…” she sighs and pauses, “I have not been entirely truthful with you. I know more then I let on….I knew you when you came here because I knew you were coming. I know not that much…but enough. It was at any cost that my future self had to ensure that you came here….any cost at all. It was necessary for the survival of all our kind.”

“So you’re using me,” Sansa says flatly, “To save your own hides.”

“And yours,” Leaf counters, “All of mankind will benefit as well. I don’t understand the outcome but I understand the path to it. You must go to Valyria…you must find the key. Valyria has been waiting for you since the day you were born.”

“What kind of cost are we talking?” Sansa asks suddenly, remembering Oberyn, “Aside from my husband’s murder. You let him die…didn’t you? You could have saved him and you let him _die_.”

“He was beyond saving,” Leaf tells her honestly, “but he withheld you from your destiny just as any child would have.”

“What _child_!?” Sansa freezes, staring down at Leaf in horror.

Leaf smiles wanly up at her, regret in her eyes, “I told you that I was to ensure you came here under any cost…did you never wonder why you had no children with your beloved?”

“No…” Sansa shakes her head, “No…you didn’t….”

“I had to make sure…I could never allow you to get with child…it would anchor you in the future and ruin any chance of you coming here and fulfilling you destiny.” Leaf turns away from her, knowing this truth would hurt the most.

“I thought I was barren,” Sansa whispers softly, “You let me believe that for years….and you were just preventing me from getting pregnant?”

“I was yes,” Leaf nods, “I do apologize for it. It was necessary.”

Silence.

For a moment she contemplated leaving and abandoning the children to their fate. If she did, her family would die too. She hated them for putting her in this position. For denying her the chance of ever having a child with Oberyn.

“I should leave you all to die,” she says coldly, bitterly.

“You could,” Leaf tells her, “but you’d be leaving your family to die with us.”

“Tell me where she is,” Sansa says flatly, “Tell me where Haessa is.”

“She went home,” Leaf sighs, “and she has asked me to tell you that she waits for you there.”

That _bitch_.

Turning on heel she walks away from Leaf without another word, never looking back once. When she reaches Visenya, she stares down at her somberly, “It looks like we’re going home.”

“What?” Visenya frowns, “Back to Dragonstone? The adventure can’t be over yet…”

“No, not Dragonstone.” Sansa sighs wearily, gazing out over the horizon, “To Valyria.”

 

 

 


	112. Chapter 112

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

 

“ _Valyria_?” Visenya says skeptically, “You’re _mad_!”

“Are you coming or not?” Sansa asks her as she climbs up onto Blackfyre’s back, “I’m going with or without you.”

Visenya regards her wearily and sighs as she climbs up onto Vhagar, “Beyond the wall I planned for…not Valyria. I think you need to start explaining yourself now.”

“I’m not who you think I am,” Sansa sighs heavily, not ready to tell Visenya the truth but knowing she has too. Visenya would need to know when they face Haessa, she would need that knowledge to be on an even playing field with them.

“That creature said I was kin…what did she mean by that?” Visenya asks her when Sansa says nothing more.

“She was referring to the dragon blood in you,” Sansa explains, “Your dragon kin like I am. Like Aegon is and Rhaenys was. The reason you have silver hair and violet eyes stems from that bloodline. It’s the trademark of all dragon kin.”

“ _Stories_ ,” Visenya scoffs, “fairy tales.”

“You just witnessed me talking to one of the children of the forest and you want to claim as a disbeliever?” Sansa asks her skeptically.

“I saw you talking to _yourself_ ,” Visenya points out, “I saw no child.”

Sansa sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. The cold night air is sharp against her face but she inhales deeply, embracing the cool refreshing wind. “I was born Sansa Stark,” she begins softly, gazing up at the starlit sky, “but before I was born, the very first time I was born…I was called Daeyra of the house of Valeneos. I was born in Valyria over a thousand years ago….I was one of triplets, my twin brothers were called Aelarr and Vamon. I had a set of twin sisters as well…Haessa and Naesa.  Before the doom, my twin sister Haessa was the strongest of us all, her blood wasn’t pure just yet but she found a way to purify it in the fires that burned in Valyria. I believe she triggered the doom…she caused it. She wanted to destroy mankind for what they did to our Mother. This whole thing…everything that happened in the present is because of her…because she spent centuries trying to eradicate mankind and unite all the different magical kingdoms…the firewalkers, the white walkers…the children of the forest….everyone. She can change shape…look like anything she wants too. Dragon kin are by no means immortal though….they can live for centuries but they can be killed. They’ll be reborn however….over and over again. I am one of them….and so are you.”

Visenya had remained silent the whole time Sansa spoke, mulling over everything she just said. It sounded like utter madness and yet, it made sense. “So how are you and I connected? How am I a part of this?”

“You’re my sister,” Sansa says quietly, “Your Naesa…and Ellaria…I _think_. I was….I was Rhaenys,” Sansa winces as she admits this, “I was Daeyra…and Aegon was Aelarr…and I think he was Aegon again back in the present…I knew him as our Aegon’s grandson…” she sighs, noting the struggle on Visenya’s face, “I know this sounds completely mad…but Aegon knows about all of it…I told him. We both agreed we’d tell you when the time was right…when we had everything sorted but I think you need to know before we go plunging into the heart of Valyria.”

“You’re _Rhaenys_ …” Visenya trails off, suddenly plunging towards the ground and landing. Sansa follows suit, watching her slide off Vhagar’s back and begin to pace.  “You really _are_ mad…”

“I’m not,” Sansa says pointedly as she lands, remaining on Blackfyre’s back as she watches Visenya, “I know this is hard to accept….but I am her…I _was_ her.”

“You’re _mad_ ,” Visenya hisses dangerously, “Shut up! You’re as mad as Rhaenys was!”

“Rhaenys wasn’t mad Visenya,” Sansa tells her firmly, “She had the sight…she saw me coming…she wrote it all in her journal. I need to go to Valyria and end this…if you won’t come with me I understand.”

“You two kept this from me…this _whole_ time….” Visenya glowers up at her angrily, “You lying little….” She bit down on her last words, turning sharply away from Sansa.

Sansa waits quietly, watches Visenya pace and fume. It was best to wait till she calmed down before she replied. “I’m leaving now…” she says softly, “I’m sorry this is hard for you…but it’s true…I’m sorry we kept it from you for so long.” When Visenya says nothing she flies away, guilt weighing down on her shoulders and her heart. She knew that might be hard for Visenya to deal with, but it needed to be said before they went any further.

 

* * *

 

She flies on for hours it seems, and quietly she begins to believe that Visenya really wasn’t coming. She’d thought that perhaps she’d calm down and see reason, but perhaps she’d been wrong. If she was going to Valyria alone she’d need supplies first. Braavos would have to be her first stop. It wasn’t going to be easy to hide Blackfyre and she knew it. Word will get out that she was on her own and Aegon would hunt her down on Balarion like a thunderstorm on the horizon. She would have to be fast if she meant to outrun him, Balarion was twice as strong and twice as fast then even Vhagar. When Braavos was in sight she landed on the outskirts toward the mountains, concealing Blackfyre in the tree line before sliding off his back and skirting her way into the city. Nobody could know who she was so she kept her head down and remained as quiet and as inconspicuous as she could. She gathers food and camping equipment, blankets and heavy furs to keep warm because she has no idea what the climate will be like where she’s going.

Her best guess is that Valyria is going to be very warm…very…very warm.

However the lands beyond it, she had no idea.

Aegon was never going to forgive her either. He was going to be angry if she managed to survive this, and he’d probably be breathing fire if such a thing were possible. Staggering back towards the tree line, struggling with the weight of her pack she notices two things immediately.

One…Vhagar was eating a goat.

Two, Visenya was glaring at her from her place where she leans against a tree.

“Do you think the locals will mind him eating their goats?” Sansa points out as she staggers up to Blackfyre and straps the pack onto her saddle.

“No,” Visenya says nonchalantly, “They’d never have the nerve to tell me no.”

“Still,” Sansa sighs, “It’s a bit rude.”

“Like I care what they think or you for that matter,” Visenya tells her flatly. “Let me get something straight…right now,” Visenya begins, meeting Sansa’s gaze firmly, “You’re mad…I don’t believe a word of it. I believe you’ve twisted your way into my brothers heart and manipulated his longing for Rhaenys…that’s why he won’t see the truth of it all…his mind is broken too. It’s been broken since she died and he’s so desperate to have her back he’s deluded himself into believing your Rhaenys reincarnated. Know this…when we get back…if we survive this, I will make sure you _never_ get anywhere near my brother or our children ever again. I won’t have you driving my brother further into madness and manipulating him any longer.  I’m going with you because if I come back without you, he’ll never forgive me. If I come back without you…” Visenya sighs, slowly losing steam, “ _I’ll_ never forgive me.”

“Visenya I promise you,” Sansa says softly, “When we get to Valyria…you’ll believe me then.”

“ _Stop_ ,” Visenya says sharply, holding up a hand, “I don’t want to hear it. Just lead the way…we need to get moving before Aegon catches up.”

“He’s tracking us?” Sansa asks worriedly.

“Not yet but he will be the minute he figures out who was behind the riot in Dorne,” Visenya tells her as they take off into the sky.

“He won’t go beyond Dorne,” Sansa says quietly as they soar above Braavos, “he won’t leave Westeros ungoverned.”

“Which is why we need to get beyond Dorne before he does,” Visenya replies evenly, “We don’t rest until we reach the outer edges of Dorne closer to Volantis.”

 

* * *

 

It was a miserably long flight.

They were travelling into lands even Visenya has never seen. “My sister dreamed of seeing this for herself before she died,” Visenya says softly, her gaze travelling over the land below as they soar overhead. “Of what lay beyond the summerset sea.”

“It looks a bit like desert and wasteland to me,” Sansa says as she frowns, the land below was dry and broken, scattered villages and towns. She’d heard stories as a girl about the villages that lived on the outskirts of Valyria. They were dangerous and full of pirates, vagabonds and a number of other unsavory characters. Nobody ever dared to venture any farther then the outskirts of it, the heart of Valyria was not more than a boiling wasteland filled with ruins, a place people went and never returned.

“We’ll be flying over those towns,” Visenya tells her softly, “I’d rather not deal with pirates…or thieves for that matter. I don’t want them to see us however so we’ll stay high, above the clouds if we can.”

They opted to fly only at night as well when they reached the outskirts of Valyria. It was better if they took no chances of anyone seeing them, of anyone getting any ideas about their dragons.

“Just because the greater houses perished in the doom doesn’t mean there aren’t people out there who could still know how to ride a dragon,” Visenya tells her one evening over a supper of cheese and bitter red wine. They were huddled around a tiny fire though it was warm enough out they didn’t need anything bigger. “Muddled blood of the lesser houses may still exist here.”

“I thought only those of high birth rode dragons?” Sansa asks softly, curiously. They were on a perilous edge, the tension between them was palatable and yet they still managed to be civil with one another. She couldn’t help but wonder if Visenya was honestly hurt and felt betrayed, thinking Sansa was the real mastermind and not she. If that were true, Visenya’s pride might be a little hurt too, considering she probably thought Sansa had managed to play her as well as Aegon.

“Some of the lesser houses managed it too,” Visenya shrugs, “stolen dragons….back in the day, dragons were so huge in number it was like owning a horse. People had stables full of them and it wasn’t considered an oddity at all when somebody stole one.”

They were silent after that; she could tell she was pushing her luck with Visenya. That evening after supper they took to the sky and flew all night, stopping to rest during the day well hidden beneath rocky overhangs or any cave they could find. The day they reached the edges of the center of Valyria, they landed to sort out a plan.

It was hot and muggy out, and the sky was full of ash and smoke. There was an odd red haze over the land, it tasted like magic and destruction. “I don’t like this…” Visenya says wearily, “I don’t trust it. We need to stay above this haze….going into it will certainly get us killed.”

Sansa couldn’t help but agree because whatever it was, it was clearly dangerous. So they flew overhead, circling again and again as they searched for a clear place to land.

“There’s nothing,” Visenya called, “I don’t see any place here that would be safe to land.”

“I’m going in,” Sansa calls back, “Haessa will have to know I’m here…she’ll let me in.”

“Not bloody likely!” Visenya calls back, “You’re not going anywhere without me.”

“Land over on that cliff face over there,” Sansa points out watching the red haze part ever so slightly to reveal it. Something told her that Haessa did that; she definitely knew they were there.

They land and switch, leaving Vhagar on the cliff to watch as both Sansa and Visenya climb onto Blackfyre’s back and descend slowly into the red haze below. Behind her, Visenya unsheathes Dark Sister. She can hear the singing call of metal as it slides across the hardened leather scabbard, the weight of it settling in Visenya’s hand behind her.

“Don’t lose that sword,” Sansa tells her pointedly, “it’s worth more than half of Westeros in the future and it needs to exist in order to help Dany…try not to drop it in the lava.”

“I’m not going to drop it in the _lava_ ,” Visenya rolls her eyes in exasperation, clearly annoyed with Sansa’s ever present fusing about the future being meddled with.

She can’t help but giggle a little, considering what she just told Visenya. They were flying over boiling lava, in the middle of Valyria. This was every story she’s ever read about, brave knights venturing into the heart of Valyria to rescue the damsel. Yet it was the damsel going to the rescue this time.

“I can’t see a damn thing,” Visenya says, “and it smells _awful_.”

“This is it,” Sansa tells her, “You and I will know what happened here for true. If we survive this we’ll be the _only_ ones who ever know.”

“Keyword… _if_ we survive this,” Visenya says dryly, coughing as she tries to wave the smoke away from her face, “Where is this tree your looking for?”

“I don’t know,” Sansa admits, “I just know it’s here somewhere.”

“ _Lovely_ ,” Visenya sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, “Your as bad as Rhaenys…I will give you that.”

“ _What was that_!?” Sansa yelps as they swerve sharply to the right, narrowly dodging a flame chunk of debris that goes whizzing right past them.

“I don’t know,” Visenya replies, nervousness creeping across her expression, “I haven’t a clue where it came from either.”

“There,” Sansa says and points, unable to hold the sight before her for long without having to look away. It was a man below on the broken ground, a man made of fire but still clearly defined as a man. His skin was like the ground, cracked and broken but within the cracks Sansa could make out the faint glow of fire within.

Visenya frowns, “I see nothing…what are you pointing at?”

“She can’t see them Daeyra,” Haessa’s voice echoes over the gloom, “she’s forgotten.”

“Where are you?” Sansa calls, searching the ground below in reply.

“Where is _who_?” Visenya glowers at the back of her head, nervousness, frustration and a little bit of anger beginning to break through her calm exterior. It may very well be that Sansa was mad and she should have never come here with her. She should have never allowed Sansa go to Valyria at all.

“Let her hear you Haessa,” Sansa says tiredly, “She thinks I’m mad.”

“Naesa….so _stubborn_ ,” Haessa coos from wherever she hides her voice echoes off the broken hillsides and burning land below. “You were always the disbeliever….while I believed with every fiber of my being…you disbelieved with yours. I suppose that is the way of twins.”

Visenya’s eyes widen, her head whipping around at the sound of the voice, “I definitely heard _that_ ….who is that?”

“That,” Sansa says softly as they land, Blackfyre settling on a wide expanse of ground, just wide enough for a dragon to land without them having to deal with the lava, “was Haessa….Naesa is your name…that’s who you are to her.”

“My _name_ is Visenya,” she scowls aloud, “and regardless of _who_ you might think I am, you sure as hell aren’t any bloody sister of _mine_.”

“Visenya,” the voice echoes, “Naesa…all the same person just different lifetimes.”

“I’m nothing like Rhaenys,” Sansa explains to Visenya quietly, “but I was her. I was also a woman called Daeyra.” When Blackfyre lands, the ground beneath his clawed feet quakes and cracks beneath the pressure. They can see nothing of the land around them save for the thick red haze and the burning smell of sulfur in the air.

“Just north of here is the smoking sea,” Visenya says quietly, “I _think_ ….and that’s where all this haze is coming from. The fourteen flames once stood there.”

“Bloody hell!” Sansa yelps, yanking her ankle higher up onto the dragon as her eyes catch sight of a flickering elemental, a man of living flame. “They look like white walkers except….with fire instead of ice.”

“Their elementals,” Haessa’s voice now as she walks through the mist, her gown inky black and flowing around her like a living thing, her glittering amethyst eyes like a constellation of stars. She was the purest blood of the dragon kin, her hair such brilliant silver it glittered like diamonds even in the burning haze around them. “I freed them and they repaid me by filtering out the filth from the pure.”

“You murdered thousands…” Sansa says as she stares Haessa down, “You murdered thousands upon thousands…”

“The Valyrian freehold had become to polluted to continue,” Haessa says with an air of authority, “I had to do something about it. I promised you Mother’s death would not go unavenged.”

It was then Sansa had noticed Visenya’s curious silence. When she glanced back at the other woman, she was surprised by the ashen look on her face. Her skin was flushed and pale, as if she could not believe what she saw and refused to believe it.

“Come,” Haessa tells Sansa, “You’ve finally come home…I’ve built us a palace. Soon we will rule all the realms and the humans will no longer be a threat to us.”

Maybe…just maybe Visenya would understand what she was doing. If she didn’t, Visenya would think her a traitor. “Your right…” Sansa laughs a little dryly, “You’re always right aren’t you? I can run all I want but in the end, I’m miserable.”

“ _Of course you are_ ,” Haessa tells her with shining eyes, glittering with triumph. Her voice is softer, more understanding, more gentle now, “My sweet sister…you’ve been so abused at the hands of the humans…you deserve so much better than their foulness.”

Visenya coughs behind her, like a sound of disbelief, or humor…one of the two. Sansa hoped it was humor, Sansa hoped Visenya has caught onto her scheme. “I hate this though,” Sansa scowls at the haze, “I can’t see a damned thing…it’s not beautiful as it once was.”

“It will be lifted when the time is right,” Haessa tells her, “It is for our protection…to keep the humans out.” After a long silent pause she adds, “Come, walk with me.” The two file out alongside Haessa, Visenya hovering close to Sansa’s side. Haessa tells them a story, of the secrets that burned beneath Valyria before the doom.

 “Once…” Haessa tells them both, “The secret of Valyrian steel lie with the dragon kin…but as our bloodline dwindled we could no longer create fire hot enough to shape it. Our magic had dwindled away so we improvised. These elementals were enslaved and kept beneath the fourteen flames, deep beneath the ground where they were made to forge Valyrian steel and weapons imbued with magic.  They’d planned a rebellion for years…decades and decades…you see, just as the children of the forest were driven from their homes; the Valyrian people drove the elementals from theirs. It used to be that we lived in peace with them, dragon kin and the elementals. Yet human blood eventually found its way into our bloodline and the humans turned on the elementals. We could no longer withstand the flame; our skin was like parchment in the heat.”

At some point in the conversation, Visenya disappeared from her side. For a brief fearful moment, Sansa wondered if Visenya had abandoned her. This would be overwhelming for anyone to handle, but if Visenya ran…she understood why. Aegon needed her, as did Maegor and Aenys. Yet as she glanced briefly to the left she noticed a flickering white light, fading in and out of the mist. It was hard to tell what it was, but for some odd reason Haessa couldn’t see it at all. It was bright as a diamond, shimmering white light that flickered in the red haze. Haessa was still talking, though she’d lost track of the conversation.

Then she saw Visenya.

Visenya was sneaking her way towards the brilliant white light, and Sansa knew she needed to play along. “Haessa…” Sansa says quietly as she steps up to walk alongside her once elder sister “Is our home still here?”

“No,” Haessa told her, “It burned in the doom like everything else…but I built us a new home.”

Sansa coughs, waving the fumes away from her face. Her eyes were stinging from the sulfur and the burning ash in the air, “I can hardly breathe here.”

“You’ll breathe just fine once your blood is pure,” Haessa reassures her, “We must stand before the flames and purify your blood.” Then she stops, her glittering gaze swinging in the direction of where Visenya disappeared too, “Naesa…if you continue on this path you will die.”

It was almost creepy the way she did it, as if knowing without knowing, seeing without seeing that Visenya was up to something. Something flickered across her face and then she looked at Sansa, “Naesa was always the stubborn one. She never listened even when I told her of the dangers. It’s a pity…I would have liked to keep both of you. Now it seems you and I will have to wait for our sister to be reborn again.” Then she nods, almost imperceptible but she does.

Panic rips through Sansa at the sight, her eyes swinging around to search for Visenya. Yet all she sees is mist and the burning shape of firewalkers charging after something. Abruptly the glittering diamond light in the distance goes out and a fresh wave of fear hits Sansa.

What happened to the key?

It is then that she notices the tower stone columns before her, a palace of stone and brilliant mosaic colored windows glittering like jewels in the firelight. It was a home befitting of the dragon kin, and as Haessa caught her skirts and carefully climbed the front steps Sansa followed suit, worry driving her to distraction as she glanced back to search for Visenya. If she tried to run now, Haessa would no doubt discover the key. It was clear Haessa couldn’t see it, but if Sansa tried to grab it, whatever preventing Haessa from noticing it might no longer work.

“We aren’t much of a kin to the dragons without actual _dragons_ …” Sansa muses lightly, noting the glittering mosaic windows that as she turned, could see depictions of dragons soaring through the sky.

“You are no dragon yourself,” Haessa points out, “you are a dragon in wolf fur, your soul is what carries the dragon strength.” Then she pauses, turning to glance back at Sansa, “Don’t think to defy me Daeyra…I see it in your mind, that spark of defiance. Naesa is lost to us…the elementals will take care of her. I promise you though…we’ll find her again and we’ll bring her home.”

“Aelarr…” Sansa says softly, thinking of Aegon and his sons, “Maegor…Aenys…”

“If you insist,” Haessa says tiredly, like Sansa was being difficult, “if they defy me they will die. I cannot risk the safety of our people.”

“I can’t leave them…” Sansa tells Haessa, “I love Aelarr….I love his children…”

“You’ll soon have a dragon of your own to love,” Haessa smiles knowingly, her eyes flickering towards Sansa’s womb, “a daughter to love…but defiant and willful…she’ll be just like you.”

“You can’t possibly know that,” Sansa tells her, her hand instantly snapping to her belly as if shielding it from Haessa’s gaze. She wasn’t pregnant was she? She couldn’t be pregnant. When was the last time she had her moon blood? These were questions she clearly should have been considering but was far too distracted to notice.

“I see the future sweet sister, have you forgotten?” Haessa smiles at her, “It’s only been a thousand years or so…not long at all.”

“Really…that long?” Visenya’s voice cuts through the dim of the conversation. “You simply _must_ introduce me to your maester.” She was battered and bloody, and Dark Sister looked particularly worse for wear.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Sansa tells her, “but I distinctly recall telling you _not_ to drop it in the lava.”

“Ah,” Haessa says, “Naesa you were always difficult to be rid of.”

“You’re _pregnant_?” Visenya scowls at Sansa, “You’re pregnant and you tricked me into coming here with you?”

“I never tricked you,” Sansa replies, “I didn’t even know I was pregnant…Haessa can see the future.”

“Would you like to know _yours_ little sister?” Haessa asks Visenya with a cruel smile, “Your son will never live to see his own.”

“ _Stop it_ ,” Sansa says so sharply that it gives Haessa pause. Visenya didn’t need to know those hard truths. At first she hated the Targaryen Queen but love and fondness for her grew over time. They were family now, sisters. She wasn’t about to let Haessa wreck all of Visenya’s dreams for Maegor.

“Do not speak of my son,” Visenya hisses at Haessa, “You will _never_ speak of my son.”

Despite her fierceness, Sansa could see the flicker of fear and doubt racing through Visenya’s eyes.  If Visenya wasn’t already paranoid, she will be now.  “Haessa leave her be.”

“Very well,” Haessa says smoothly as she watches Visenya, “but she won’t leave here alive.”

“Neither will you,” Visenya says fiercely.

“You never fail to surprise me Naesa,” Haessa says with a sigh as if bored with her already, “but Daeyra and I have things to tend to,” she nods her head towards the vale of mist behind Visenya, “Guards…kill her.”

“ _No_!” Sansa shrieks, diving forward. Haessa catches her by the arm, yanking her back up the steps with one hand. Haessa was unnaturally strong; her grip was like iron bruising against Sansa’s skin. “NO!”

Get the key…run.

It was all she could think of as she wretched herself free of Haessa, clawing at her face to distract the other woman long enough to get her to let go of her arm. Sansa bolts down the steps, stumbling as she goes, staggering over sharp uneven ground and broken cracks filled with lava. It was swelteringly hot here, so very much that she could scarcely breathe without coughing.

“You will never leave here Daeyra… _never_!” Haessa screams, fierce determination in her voice. “Do you think those humans can give you immortality? Can they give you back what it rightfully yours? Can they free you? Your whole life you’ve been tied down. They treat you like property, like you’re a _chair_ or a _goat_. Here you would be a _Queen_ , here you would be _free_!”

“I already am a Queen Haessa,” Sansa snaps, “You should be pleased I married into the Targaryen family. The last highborn house of Valyria.”

“Lower house,” Haessa counters, “They were nothing compared to us.”

Sansa continues to run, searching for that flickering diamond light which faded away into nothing not moments before. Vaguely she makes out a burnt tree; at its heart…it looked like a brilliant white light. The key was _inside_ the tree? How was she supposed to get it out? Scrambling up to the tree she searches it over, occasionally glancing back in to check that Haessa wasn’t about to sneak up on her. Nothing was following her it seemed, save for Haessa’s voice. She could hear battle in the background and feared the worst. Visenya was in trouble, she had to get back there. Yet before she could move, dragon fire erupted before her eyes, huge bouts of it billowing across the broken landscape.

Blackfyre.

It probably won’t hurt any of the firewalkers but it would definitely be annoying. She hoped Visenya would be able to escape on his back if anything. Her fingers were numb and bruised from ripping at the old dead wood, thrusting her wrist into the hollow of the tree as her fingers closed around oddly cold steel. Pulling it out she stares at the key and laughs, knowing that this was the very same one she cut her hand on for certain. Quickly before anyone sees it, she puts it around her neck and tucks it into her gown. It was time to leave, but how?

“Visenya I’m coming!” Sansa calls, running across the broken ground. They needed to get out of here; Visenya could only stall them for so long.

“Like hell you are!” Haessa appears directly in front of her, like inky black smoke solidifying into a person.

“I don’t know what you think you are,” Sansa scowls at her, “but you are no dragon!”  Quickly she shoves past her, barreling across the landscape towards the sound of battle where she hoped she’d find Visenya.

“I’ll follow you,” Haessa threatens as Sansa runs, “ _I’ll kill him_ …I’ll _destroy_ Aelarr…he’ll never come back! You’ll never see him again!”

This gives Sansa pause, and she turns to look at Haessa, “He’s our brother…our blood…and you’d kill him to spite me?”

“I’ve killed him many times,” Haessa scoffs, “I’ve killed all of them a few times…they were in the way.”

“You are no sister of mine,” Sansa tells her coldly, hatred burning in her eyes, “You are no sister of _ours_.”

“I’ve been more than a sister to you!” Haessa snarls angrily, “I’ve given you _everything_!”

“Did you kill Rhaenys?” Sansa says quietly, sudden realization dawning on her.

“Not directly,” Haessa replies, “The Dornish people did that for me.”

“She was close to the truth and you feared her,” Sansa scowls at Haessa.

“You were _particularly_ tenacious in that reincarnation,” Haessa replies sourly.

“If I survive this…if I ever live to see the lands beyond this one,” Sansa tells her flatly, “You’d best hope Aegon never finds out what you did to Rhaenys.”

“Aelarr’s temper is legendary for sure,” Haessa tells her, “but he doesn’t have the power to destroy me.”

“No,” Visenya replies from behind Haessa, “but I do.”

In a blur of motion and a scream of rage, Dark Sister sings through the air. Just as Sansa thought to see Haessa’s head rolling across the ground, she saw another sight that frightened her even more. Haessa was holding the edge of Dark Sister as if the steel did not cut into her skin. Visenya stared at her in awe and horror, dumbstruck. “That,” Haessa tells Visenya pointedly, “Was a mistake.” She reaches out one clawed metal finger, magic twisting like vines through Haessa’s skin as she touches Visenya’s forehead lightly. Sansa watches as her sister staggers backwards, staring into the distance as if seeing some new horror that she could not.

“Visenya…” Sansa says, “Visenya it’s not _real_!” Clearly caught in her own horror Sansa looks from her sister to Haessa, “What have you done to her?”

“Punishment,” Haessa says to her, “Naesa always needed a firm hand to guide her.”

“Let her go,” Sansa tells her firmly, “Let her go _right now_!”

“Make your choice little sister,” Haessa tells her, changing the subject, “Me or Aelarr.”

“You told me I could keep him,” Sansa tells her flatly.

“I lied,” Haessa smiles wanly, “He’ll never go along with it and you know it. Choose… _now_.”

“If I stay….Visenya goes free,” Sansa tells her firmly as she follows Haessa up a long narrow hill that led to a stone overhang, looming over the burning land below. On the edge of this overhang Haessa stood with Sansa beside her, gazing down at the boiling fire flickering brightly before them. “If I stay…when the baby is born you will allow her to go free as well…let me take her to her Father.”

“No,” Haessa replies without hesitation but before Sansa can protest Haessa adds, “Naesa will come here for the baby, alone….I will not have Aelarr meddling with my work.”

“Fine,” Sansa says darkly, glancing back down the hill towards Visenya, “Let her go… _please_.”

“I will when you hold up your end of the bargain,” Haessa tells her firmly, “Hold your arm out over the flames….when you join me…when the humanity is burned from your blood, I will release her.”

It was now or never.

If she went through with this, she’d never get the key back to Westeros. If she refused, Visenya would die and mostly likely Aegon as well. Shifting her gaze towards Haessa and then to the fires below, she pondered her options. If she did this, she’d no longer be human. She’d be trapped in this burning wasteland with Haessa forever. There was one thing she could do, it was reckless and she wasn’t even sure it would work. It was just like when she was thirteen and she stood in Kings Landing, staring up at the severed head of her Father. Haessa was another Joffrey, and as she remembered that moment in Kings Landing, she took a deep breath and turned to look at Haessa.

Then she pushed her over the edge.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This was by far one of the hardest chapters for me to write. I must have rewritten this three or four times. Up next will be the second half of the trip to Valyria, then comes the Epilogue which is actually about four parts long. So more then five chapters left definitely, this is a lot bigger then I anticipated. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter.


	113. Chapter 113

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Present Day**

They needed dragon fire.

Leaf’s voice still echoed in Jon Snows ears, _it cannot simply be destroyed, it must be_ unmade _._   That implied that it couldn’t simply be crushed beneath his boot, he had to melt the bloody thing. Valyrian steel wasn’t easy to melt either, they needed a forge hot enough to do it and right now considering how cold it was outside, only dragon fire would do. Viserion wasn’t far away; they left him under a snow covered tree just north of the hill where he met up with Leaf. The children have managed to drive the white walkers back a ways, giving them enough room to spread out.  All he had to do was destroy this damn thing…

“Jon Snow,” said a musical voice, clear as a bell and crisp as a winter’s morning. When he turned, he saw something his eyes could not make sense of…it was Ygritte.

“You’re not real…” Jon breaths aloud as she steps closer, “You died.”

 “Didn’t I tell you Jon Snow?” she smiles at him, “You know nothing.”

“I know enough to know that you died,” Jon tells her pointedly, “I burned your body.”

“So you think,” Ygritte replies as she steps closer, curling her fingers against his jawline, “I’ve been looking for you Jon Snow.”

“Ygritte,” he says softly, mournfully as he shakes his head, “Your dead.”

“I’m not real,” Ygritte agrees, “I’m a hallucination...I’m not dead Jon Snow…” Ygritte tells him, lightly brushing a kiss across his lips, “ _You are_.”

 

* * *

 

He wakes with a start, coughing up dry air as his screaming lungs gasp for air. He jerks back into the snow beneath him, Tyrion’s face perilously close to his, “ _Finally_!” Tyrion says aloud, “I thought you were _dead_!”

“Did you _kiss_ me?” Jon coughs, sucking in air as fast as he can, aching to drive away the burning in his lungs from lack of oxygen. His whole body felt like lead.

“I saved your life,” Tyrion told him, “You weren’t breathing.”

“What happened?” Jon sits up slowly, his head is throbbing and his arm is numb. He had a sneaking suspicion his arm was dislocated, though he couldn’t remember how he did it.

“You don’t remember any of it?” Tyrion frowns at him worriedly.

“Nothing…” Jon tells him, rubbing his sore scalp where he feels a warm blood trickle beneath his fingers. “I remember leaving the Red Keep to find the children and then…nothing.”

“Give it time,” Tyrion tells him, “It’ll come back to you. For now however, let me fill you in. We found them, they told us how to destroy it, we went to destroy it and the witch showed up with that ice breathing monstrosity of hers, and she damn near killed us both. We got knocked clean out of the sky and then the Queen shows up and flies head on into the other dragon. Next thing you know…I’m pulling her out of the wreckage.”

“Is she dead?” Jon says in a panic, suddenly looking for her, “Where is she Tyrion?”

“She’s alive, but unconscious…it was quite a battle you missed. I’d never seen a dragon battle before,” Tyrion tells him, “Drogon is injured badly…his shoulder took a nasty gash when that thing bit him.”

“Is the witch dead?” Jon asks quietly, feeling determination boil in his blood. If she wasn’t dead yet, she would be.

“I saw her fall,” Tyrion confirms, “When she hit the ground her body shattered like glass against the ground.”

“The key…” Jon says suddenly, searching his pockets for it.

“I have it,” Tyrion says, “you almost lost it mid-flight. I luckily had the sense to wretch it off your neck and tuck it away in my coat.”

“We need to destroy it,” Jon tells him firmly, “We destroy it and it’s over.”

“It was over the moment the witch died,” Tyrion tells him, “The minute she hit the ground the dragon turned to ash right there in the sky. Their armies too…all of it got carried away on the wind.”

“She was holding it all together,” Jon says wearily, trying to make sense of it, “Her magic was binding everything together.”

“Biggest bloody fake if I ever saw one,” Tyrion muses aloud. “Now _that_ was a woman who knew how to put on a show.”

Carefully Jon wobbled to his feet and staggered towards Daenerys, her body prone and unmoving against a tree. There was a trickle of blood sliding down her temple and her lip was cut. “We need to get her to a maester.”

Tyrion nods, “I’ve been trying for an hour to get your fearsome dragon down out of that tree over there,” Tyrion tells him, pointing to a tree in the distance, “but I think he’s mad at me. I wasn’t particularly gentle when I tried to steer him towards the ground without killing us after you passed out. I was hoping I could get him to come out and maybe try and get her onto his back.”

Jon sighs heavily, wiping the snow from his face, “Stay with her,” he says after a pause, “I’ll go and get Viserion. My arm is dislocated so you’ll have to help me steer.”

 

* * *

 

It’s a fight to get Viserion out of the tree. He’s agitated and Drogon’s constant snarls from across the field weren’t helping at all. Drogon desperately needed to be tended too, Jon was afraid he’d bleed to death before anyone could help him. When he finally gets Viserion down, the stubborn white dragon lets out a low rumble of warning at the sight of Tyrion.

“What the blazes did you do to him Tyrion?” Jon asks with a frown.

“He’s just being sensitive,” Tyrion scowls back at the dragon.

“He _is_ a sensitive dragon,” Jon agrees quietly and adds when Viserion’s head swings around to look at him, “but still quite fearsome.”

Gingerly, between Jon and Tyrion they manage to haul Daenerys up onto Viserion, setting her firmly in front of Jon with one arm around her waist while Tyrion climbs up behind Jon. When they take to the sky, they can see far down below scattered white walkers disappearing into the snow bank, and silently Jon wondered if destroying the key would kill them.

Did he want to kill them?

To release the seasons would put the weather back to rights. Spring would melt all the snow even beyond the wall, and no doubt any home the white walkers had there would be ruined. They’d done the people of Westeros so much harm in the last few months, Jon was torn with what to do with them.

“We destroy them,” Tyrion says after a long pause as if knowing what Jon is thinking, “They’ve killed hundreds of people. If they’d simply come to us seeking refuge, tried to reason with us…maybe this would have never happened, maybe we would have given them refuge.”

Jon Snow was a man of both compassion and logic. Compassion told him it would be the end of the white walkers if he released the seasons, and logic told him if they didn’t, the white walkers would simply come back one day and destroy them all.

 

* * *

 

It was like time slowed down as she watched Haessa fall. Shock and surprise were etched across her features, her body soundlessly disappearing into the burning lava below. She wasn’t even sure if Haessa was dead. She had a sneaking suspicion however, that the fire here was different. If it purified Haessa, then it was clearly also the one thing that could destroy her. Vaguely she realized Visenya was yanking on her arm, trying to get her on her feet. “We have to go now! This place is going to collapse around us!”

All she could see was Haessa’s face as she fell to her death, as the lava encased her body and she disappeared. There was no certainty she was dead, but something told Sansa she was. Something told her that Haessa would be back again. Not now, maybe not for centuries, but Haessa would be back. Dumbly she lets Visenya guide her back to Blackfyre. The firewalkers have scattered, the barren burning land was mysteriously vacant suddenly.

“Get on!” Visenya shouts, “ _Hurry_!” Visenya climbs up onto Blackfyre’s back behind her and yanks the reigns into her hands, soundlessly gliding up into the sky. “Tell me you have the key.”

“I do,” Sansa replies, fingering the smooth steel beneath the neckline of her gown, “I have it.”

“Good,” Visenya says, looking worse for wear but still strong enough for battle, “We need to get out of here right now. You must have killed her…the minute you pushed her I was back in my own mind again.”

The escape from the miserable red haze was dangerous at best. Without Haessa to part it, they were dodging ruined towers and broken bridges left and right. It was by far the scariest flight Sansa’s ever been on, and she was grateful for Visenya’s skill in dragon riding because she hardly thought she’d manage this sort of mess easily.

When they were free of the cloud bank Vhagar spotted them and let out a cry as they landed, Visenya swiftly swinging herself up onto his back as she looks at Sansa, “Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

The flight back is a quiet one.

Visenya looks positively haggard, her hair wild around her face and pulled free from the careful braid she’d put it in. Sansa was no better, her riding clothes were torn and her face was covered in soot. Dark Sister was still intact, burned along the edges but nothing that couldn’t easily be repaired. They land near Volantis, too scared to stop moving until they’d put some distance between themselves and Valyria.  That night they eat stale bread and what was left of the wine, staring into the flames without saying a word to each other most of the night. Finally Sansa breaks the silence, looking up at Visenya who sits nearby by a stream they’d found, washing her arms and face clean of sweat and soot from battle. “What did you see?”

Visenya stiffens visibly and looks at Sansa, “Leave it,” she tells Sansa in a tone that brooked no argument, “Never ask me that again.”

“Do you believe me now,” Sansa replies, changing the subject. Whatever Visenya saw, it frightened her.

“Yes,” Visenya says quietly, “I believe you.”

They hadn’t said more than two words to each other after that, and when they slept they slept hard. It was near noon before Visenya rocked her awake, telling her that they needed to get moving.

They flew until the moon was high in the sky, bordering near the outskirts of Braavos. Visenya was determined to keep out of sight so regardless of how Sansa longed for a hot bath; they slept near the base of the surrounding mountainside. It was another night of oddly long and silent dinners while they stared at the campfire and said nothing. Finally when it was nearing midnight and they lay on their backs, staring up at the star filled sky above them Visenya says softly to Sansa, “Can Haessa really see the future?”

“Yes,” Sansa replies quietly, “but nothing is certain Visenya.”

Afterwards, they say nothing for the rest of the night. When dawn breaks over the horizon, Visenya wakes her and they prepare for the day. They’d be home by dark if they left now, and Visenya was anxious to see Maegor.

“I was to have a son,” Sansa tells Visenya quietly as they eat breakfast, “Not a daughter.”

“What makes you say that?” Visenya asks her, quirking an eyebrow.

“I had a dream…a boy with silver hair and purple eyes the exact shade of Aegon’s…” Sansa frowns faintly, “and behind him stood Gyan.”

“It might still happen,” Visenya shrugs, “You said no fate is certain…perhaps your daughter is not a daughter at all…maybe Haessa was wrong.”

“Maybe.” Sansa says, staring down at the stale bread in her hands. Her appetite was gone, but Visenya insist that she eat.

“You need to take care of yourself Sansa,” Visenya scolds her quietly as they pack up their things and put out the campfire, “Your pregnant…that child is a future prince or princess of the realm.”

“I killed her,” Sansa says softly, “I watched her fall…the look on her face…”

“Forget her,” Visenya tells her pointedly, “She threatened everything you hold dear…nobody could blame you for doing what you did.”

Sansa doesn’t argue that. She doesn’t want to think about it anymore. What she did was something akin to what she planned to do to Joffrey the day he murdered her Father. As they took to the sky she inhaled deeply, letting the fresh morning air wash away the fear and worry of days before. Soon she would be home, and she would get to see Aegon again. They fly for hours, over sea and land and mountains. Visenya even had a slightly playful bout as she weaved through the canyons near the ground, and Sansa couldn’t help but think Visenya was truly happy to be home at last.  When the sun is setting in the horizon and they circle around Dragonstone before landing before the gates of the Dragon pit. Sansa very nearly let out a sob of relief when she saw Aegon running from the castle steps. She almost fell right off Blackfyre’s back in her hurry to get to him. It didn’t matter that she was sore and aching and covered in soot. It didn’t matter that her clothes were torn or that she hasn’t bathed in days, what mattered was that she was home.  When Aegon’s arms wrap around her and press her against his chest, her own arms circle around his waist she does sob a little, grateful to be home.

It was finally over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hi everyone! I hope everybody enjoyed the chapter. Up next will be the first part of the Epilogue. This is going to be particularly lengthy because there is so much I want to add on about what happens to Sansa and Aegon after everything that's happened so far. I want to write about their life together and any children they have. So I'm looking forward to the epilogue, but I think I might just also write a few one-shots after I'm done for a few of the characters.


	114. Epilogue: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So these next couple of chapters will cover the space of several years into the future. I just wanted to go over key moments in both Sansa's life and the lives of any children she has with Aegon, showing how history plays out for everyone involved. I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Endings are hard.

Sometimes, endings are complicated. Then sometimes, endings can be simple and straight forward. In this case, so many endings are tied together. In the present day, under the sun of a bright blue sky, Daenerys Targaryen sits the Iron Throne with her nephew and heir at her side. Before them is Arianne Martell, his betrothed. A dornish princess would finally be Queen of the seven kingdoms one day. Aegon and Arianne would go on to rule justly and heal the wounds inflicted by the Mad King Aerys and his son Rhaegar.

In another part of the world, a man and a woman would sit on a boat and stare out at the open sea. The man would tell her the good news and the decision he’s made and he’d offer her the world. He’d give her anything she wanted if she’d agree to walk this world with him. She makes a single compromise….

They travel the world together and figure everything else out along the way.

They would too, eventually they’d be man and wife, eventually Lord and Lady of Storms End, and eventually parents as well.

 In yet another corner of Westeros, Benjen Stark is Regent of the North until Rickon comes of age. Benjen teaches him everything he knows, and eventually when Rickon comes of age he takes a wife and raises the North up to the height of its strength, akin to when his Father, Eddard Stark was still Warden of the North.  His brother Bran however, remains beyond the wall where spring has reached the heart tree. When Jon Snow destroyed the key using the Viserion’s fire, the seasons were released and spring rolled across the land. The snow and ice melted in weeks and before long, they were enjoying the lazy warmth of spring as the flowers bloomed and the air was sweet with their fragrance.

Across the sea Ellaria Sand watches her son grow up, Oberyn the Younger. He would grow into a man as strong and as wise as his Father was, and he would bring happiness to any who knew him, much like his Father had done. He would also help his cousin, Arianne Martell in the coming years as she rose up to become Queen of the seven kingdoms when Daenerys handed the throne over to Aegon after twenty years of peaceful reign. Jon Snow, legalized as Jon Targaryen never married, his heart was at the wall which he took up task with after the battle was over. Jon always insisted the wall must continue to stand. Some think he never married because the woman he loved was taken from his when he was younger, some say they hear him whisper a woman’s name in his sleep sometimes…

Ygritte.

Tyrion Lannister became Lord of Casterly Rock and eventually married again, they four daughters to which Tyrion was fiercely protective of.

Especially when they met King Aegon’s sons.

The world in the present day was at peace at last, and the fear and cold of the white walkers was no more.

In the past however endings are different but the same.

* * *

 

“Mind her,” Sansa tells her husband softly, “She’s drooling on your doublet.”

“Babies often drool,” Aegon replies, gently wiping away the drool from his infant daughters face. It’s been a hectic last few months for everyone. Since their return from Valyria Aegon’s been overly protective and just a little bit paranoid. He’d been absolutely thunderous when they came home, and after he’d finished yelling he hugged them both and was grateful they’d survived it all. They’d looked awful too, covered in ash and dirt. The news of Sansa’s pregnancy had sent the whole castle into an uproar. Aegon wanted to use Rhaenys’s old room as a nursery for the new baby. Sansa was busy ordering tapestries and finding material to make baby clothes. Maegor accompanied her the majority of the time, she had a sneaking suspicion that Visenya had put him up to it. According to him, Visenya had been concerned she’d be alone to often and sent him to keep her company.

               Aegon was away most days with Aenys, who was working alongside his Father and learning his trade. When Sansa inquired as to why Maegor wasn’t with them Visenya only told her that Maegor didn’t need any such training.

Like she thought he was born ready to rule a kingdom….like there wasn’t anything Aegon could teach his son that Maegor didn’t already know. Sansa thought perhaps if Maegor had spent more time with his Father then the stories in the history books about Maegor the Cruel might be different.

“Can I hold her Father?” Maegor’s voice in the background, watching his Father pace his study, cradling his infant daughter in his arms.

Sansa muses quietly as she watches the exchange; her daughter had the silver hair of the Targaryens, kissed by fire and bright lilac eyes that gazed upon her Father in awe.

“She threw up on you last time,” Aenys tells his younger brother.

“It’s no matter,” Maegor waves him off; “Babies do that.”

“Daeyra,” Aegon coos to his daughter, “would you like your brother to hold you for a while? Your Father’s arm is going numb.” Gently he lowers his daughter into Maegor’s arms and watches his son cradle her against him, brushing a stray lock of silver curls away from her face.

“Be gentle,” Aenys tells him, “Mind her head.”

“I know how to hold a baby Aenys,” Maegor rolls his eyes, bouncing her lightly as he walks.

“Don’t bounce her,” Aenys warns as he trails alongside his brother, “It’ll make her sick.”

“Boys,” Sansa calls, “Stop _fighting_ …and mind your sister…don’t drop her.” She watches them wearily as they wander out into the corridor and down towards the library. Behind them trails a wet nurse to keep an eye on them.

“We need to make a decision,” Aegon tells her when they’ve gone.

“I…” Sansa worries her bottom lip, “I don’t want her to marry Maegor.”

“And how do you expect me to explain that to Visenya?” Aegon quirks a brow at her, “She’ll be insulted. I have no valid reason to tell her no, and you seem to have one but won’t tell me what it is.”

“Well…” Sansa begins nervously, unsure of how to explain this. She didn’t want to outright tell him the truth because the truth….well he truth would definitely hurt him. However, she had no valid reason to say no without telling him the truth. Aenys was betrothed to Alyssa Velaryon. Maegor had no betrothed as of yet, he was only nine.

This was going to be difficult.

“I feel like….she could be used for an advantageous marriage…I mean…” Sansa knew it was a weak excuse, and judging by the expression on her husband’s face, he agreed, “and….Maegor could be useful elsewhere…Daeyra isn’t even…”

Aegon holds up a hand for silence, “Daeyra is our child and a Targaryen…no matter that she might have a little wolf blood in her, she’s still ours. She might be good for Maegor…he needs someone that can keep up with him.”

“Sweet Mother,” Visenya’s voice echoes down the hall as she arrives, bursting through the study door as she yanks off a silk scarf from over her head to look at her siblings, “It’s absolutely _pouring_ outside.”

“Sister,” Aegon greets her, “have you come to see your niece?”

“Oh yes,” Visenya tells him, “I’ve belated name-day gifts for her and I’ve come to fetch my son. Sansa’s had him here with her for months now. I need him back in Kings Landing.”

“I’ll go and check on Daeyra,” Sansa tells them both, “You two catch up.”

She’s out the door before anyone can protest or Aegon can pin her down and make her explain to Visenya why she doesn’t want Maegor to marry Daeyra. In Daeyra’s nursery she finds Maegor, the young boy carefully balancing Daeyra against his right shoulder while he watches Aenys marvel over the silver dragon egg in his arms.

“When he hatches…he’ll be fearsome,” Aenys tells Maegor excitedly.

“When he hatches,” Maegor says sourly, “he’ll be as much a girlish fop as you are.”

“I’m _not_ ,” Aenys glares at his brother, “just because _you_ refuse to wash your hair…”

“I refuse to _perfume_ my hair,” Maegor counters easily, “and keep back…you smell foul and you’ll make Daeyra sick.”

“I do _not_!” Aenys grounds out.

“ _Enough_ ,” Sansa tells them both as she comes into the room, “Maegor be gentle with Daeyra…she’s very fragile right now. Aenys you must take care with that egg or you’ll drop it.” Gently she takes Daeyra from Maegor’s arms much to his protest; he seemed to preen carting her around. She wondered why Aenys had brought his egg out too.

“Why did you bring your egg up from the warmth of the hatchery?” Sansa asks gently, quirking an eyebrow. Daeyra fusses quietly, yanking lightly on her hair.

“I wanted to see if he’s hatched yet,” Aenys explains, “and I didn’t want to leave Daeyra with Maegor alone…he’s too rough with her.”

“Run along now,” Sansa tells him, “Go put your egg back in the hatchery.”

Aenys nods and hurries off with the silver egg in his arms, while Maegor watches Daeyra squirm against Sansa’s shoulder. The boy seemed curiously obsessed with Daeyra, and it unnerved her. “I believe your Mother is looking for you.”

“I know,” Maegor replies, “she came in earlier to tell us she was here and for me to ready myself.”

“I know that it puts you off…Aenys getting to have a dragon egg before you,” Sansa says softly, “but when you come of age I’m sure your Father will allow you one as well.”

“I get a sister though,” Maegor replies, “she’s better than a dragon egg.”

 _Oh_ …

Now she understood.

It wasn’t about dragon eggs, it was about jealousy. Aenys had everything and now Maegor finally had something he believed would be wholly his. How was she to explain this to Maegor? “Your sister is a _person_ Maegor,” Sansa tells him gently, “she is not an animal to be trained. You must cherish her and protect her.”

“I will,” Maegor says firmly, “better then Aenys ever could.”

“I’m sure you’ll both be just as good,” Sansa tells him as he watches her set Daeyra down in her crib for a nap. Truth be told, Aenys was more like his Mother then anything. He kept his hair neat and perfumed and preferred silk and brightly colored fabric for his clothes. Maegor liked to play in the mud, he liked fighting and sparring. Maegor even at nine was nearly as tall as Aenys and she had a sneaking suspicion he would be taller than even Aegon at some point.

There were also the stories surrounding Aenys. He wasn’t a very good king; he was indecisive and unsure of himself. Maegor had been the opposite, he was overly confident and quick to temper, much like Joffrey had been. Still, if she had to choose, she’d still pick Aenys as a husband for Daeyra. The stories of the Black Brides of Maegor the Cruel were enough to put Sansa off the idea of him marrying Daeyra for good.

They still had years to decide this though.

“ _Sansa_!” Visenya’s voice is ice and she knows instantly that Aegon must have told her.

“Mother?” Maegor turns as his Mother bursts in the room, wide eyed and a little surprised by the fierce temper his Mother displays. Usually she was better at controlling herself, but something must have deeply upset her.

“Maegor my love,” she tells him in a softer tone, “Go and wait for me in the Dragon pit, I’ll be along shortly…I need to have a word with your Aunt.”

“Yes Mother,” he says obediently before hurrying out.

When he was gone Visenya rounds on her, purple eyes as hard as diamonds. “So tell me, why do you think my son isn’t worthy of your daughter exactly?”

“I never said that,” Sansa replies, “I only thought perhaps it would be wise to find her a husband outside the family…an advantageous marriage that would keep the peace with the Faith…you know they’ll be in an uproar if we marry Maegor to Daeyra.”

“I don’t care what they think,” Visenya counters, “We rule this realm, not them. They can burn with the rest of the traitors if they’ve got a problem with the way we live.”

“Visenya….it isn’t that I don’t like Maegor, I do…”

“Then what is it then?” Visenya snaps, “My son has waited _months_ for the baby to be born…you don’t know how much he hoped it would be a girl. Aenys gets _everything_ …just this once why can’t you let Maegor have something?”

“I’m not denying Maegor anything,” Sansa grounds out, “I merely feel it would be wise to consider our options.”

“It is tradition,” Visenya replies, “Aenys already has a betrothed and we cannot break that betrothal now. Maegor has no betrothed therefore he will wed Daeyra.”

“Maegor is _nine_ Visenya,” Sansa glares, “I hardly think he’ll care anything about who he’s marrying just yet.”

“She’s marrying him and that’s final,” Visenya snaps, “It’s _tradition_.”

“You don’t get to have a say about who my daughter marries,” Sansa snaps back, “That decision lies between Aegon and I just as any decision made for Maegor lies between you and Aegon.”

“You forget sister,” Visenya says coolly, “we are wed to the same man. Decisions involving our children involve all three of us. What is it about Maegor that you dislike so much? Hasn’t he been good and obedient these last few months? He came all the way here to help you because he was concerned about you being alone to often.”

“Oh that’s rubbish and you know it,” Sansa scowls at her, “You put him up to it.”

“It was his concerns that led me to the decision,” Visenya retorts hotly, “I sent him here because he expressed concern for your wellbeing.”

“We cannot wed them Visenya,” Sansa sighs, “what about Ceryse Hightower?”

“What of her?” Visenya blinks at Sansa.

 _Opps_ …

“I…” Sansa trails off a bit thoughtfully, “Well what about her? Wouldn’t that make for a good alliance?”

“Hardly,” Visenya scoffs.

“He’s nine years older than Daeyra…that’s incredibly unfair,” Sansa tells her pointedly.

“I’m three years older than Aegon….he’s five years older than you,” Visenya points out, “Are you calling me old now?”

“ _No_ ,” Sansa rolls her eyes in exasperation, “I just thought Maegor would rather have a wife his age….he’ll have to wait for Daeyra to grow up….”

“Believe me,” Visenya says pointedly, “He’ll wait.”

 

* * *

 

**Daeyra (POV)**

Her earliest memories were of her Father when she was six and he was teaching her how to put a saddle of her Mother’s dragon, Blackfyre.  Her Aunt Visenya would take her out flying sometimes, but remind her that while she is a warrior she must also be a lady.  Her Mother taught her to sew, but she’ll never be as good a seamstress as her Mother is. She likes to mend things though, and would often fix Maegor’s doublets when he tears them during sparring practice. From a young age her brother has been at her side, her friend and protector. Aenys was not so endearing to her, though he was sweet and always kind to her. Aenys was too soft for her taste, and she worried that when he is King he’ll make a mess of it. Maegor was stronger than him, and she wondered why Aenys couldn’t be more like his little brother.

“Daeyra?” her Mother’s voice carries down the hall, “The Baratheon’s are here my love….go and fetch your brother and sister for me will you?”

“Yes Mother,” Daeyra calls back and sets her sewing aside. She was sixteen now, her twin siblings Viserys and Rhaenyra were fourteen. They often liked to play hide and seek in the castle, especially if Maegor was looking for them. Rhaenyra for some odd reason delighted in infuriating him. Maegor hasn’t been home in days, he was out hunting with family friends. Aenys remained here however; keen to stay at his Father’s side. Rhaenyra was not of the same mind as her, she liked Aenys better than Maegor.  Aenys certainly liked Rhaenyra better than Daeyra.  Rhaenyra and Aenys got on quite well, and they’d often sit and listen to the travelling musicians that passed through. Viserys was a reserved sort of boy, he would often times go with them but preferred the quiet of the library. Daeyra thought he might become a maester one day.

Quietly she walks down the halls, smoothing the deep emerald green brocade of her gown. Aunt Visenya always brought her the best material to make gowns with, even though she often insisted that Daeyra let the tailor make them. Her Mother was often disproving of the cut however, she preferred gowns that were more conservative but Daeyra liked the freedom. She liked the gowns they wore in Highgarden, and the styles the nobility wore in Braavos. Today however, she was dressed as formally as any princess, because the Hand of the King was coming to Dragonstone with his family.

That and Maegor might come home today.

This was one of her finer gowns, gold silk and emerald green brocade that rested just off her shoulders and tied at the waist like the dresses of the ladies in the south wore. A string of emeralds hung about her neck and her silvery tresses braided and curled neatly. In the sunlight her hair looked like fire, not nearly so much as her Mother’s though.

“Rhaenyra,” Daeyra clears her throat, tipping her chin up to gaze at her little sister, “Mother calls us down to greet our guests.”

“Oh bother,” Rhaenyra scowls, “I hate that old Baratheon…he’s always making lewd jokes especially when he’s been in his cups. I don’t know how Mother can’t stand him.”

“Mother is a _lady_ ,” Daeyra tells her, “as are we…mind you…your hem is filthy…you can’t go down there dressed like that,” Daeyra scowls at Rhaenyra, looking down at the hem of her dress with distaste. “Mother will be furious.”

“Oh leave me be Daeyra,” Rhaenyra tells her sister, “I look fine.”

“I’ll tell Aunt Visenya,” Daeyra warns her pointedly.

“Oh you just go run and tell her then why don’t you!” Rhaenyra sneers at her sister. Daeyra was always so prim and proper.

“Have it your way then,” Daeyra tells her before turning to go and find her Aunt Visenya.

 

* * *

 

She finds Visenya in her bed chambers seated before a large glass mirror, pinning jewels into her hair. “Aunt Visenya…may I come in?”

“Come Daeyra,” Visenya smiles at her niece, “What brings you here?”

“Rhaenyra refuses to change and she’s filthy and won’t come down for dinner,” Daeyra tells her evenly.

Visenya’s gentle demeanor fades into irritation as she replies, “I’ll go and deal with her,” then after a pause as she fingers the emerald brocade of Daeyra’s gown, “this looks so lovely on you…I knew the fabric would make an excellent gown. Though I think you ought to straighten your hair…just there,” Visenya says, brushing a stray curl back behind Daeyra’s ear, “There…now you’ll be perfect for when your brother arrives.”

“Thank you,” Daeyra smiles.

Visenya stands, tossing the jeweled clips she’d been working with back onto the table with a heavy sigh. “Honestly, your sister is absolutely ridiculous. She behaves like a child.” Then she sweeps out of the room in a whirl of frustration, firm steps lightly trailing down the hall towards Rhaenyra’s bed chambers.

 

* * *

 

**Rhaenyra (POV)**

 

Daeyra always got away with everything.

Their Aunt Visenya doted on Daeyra nearly as much as she did Maegor. Visenya never really liked Rhaenyra, or so she thinks. Rhaenyra was clumsy and overly passionate about things.  She was more warrior then lady, though Visenya often tried to teach both she and Daeyra to be both in equal measure.

“She’s only running to Aunt Visenya because Maegor isn’t here,” Viserys tells his sister quietly, “Personally I’d rather deal with Maegor myself.”

“She can’t just boss me around like that,” Rhaenyra scowls at her brother, “I’m not a _dog_.”

“Would you rather Mother see your new gown in tatters?” Viserys asks as he glances down at the hem of her dress, “It’s ruined.”

“I _know_ ,” Rhaenyra huffs in frustration, “I went riding on Blackfyre this morning…I didn’t mean to tear it…”

“Then mayhaps Rhaenyra you should have worn riding leathers instead of a gown,” her Aunt’s voice rings in the doorway and Viserys falls as silent as she, both their gazes trained on their Aunt. “Rhaenyra,” she says calmly though Rhaenyra has known her Aunt long enough to know when she’s livid and definitely _not_ calm, “You will change your gown, you will come down to dinner and you will smile and be a lady for our guests. If you aren’t in the dining hall by seven this evening, I will send your brother Maegor to fetch you, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes Aunt Visenya,” Rhaenyra says quietly, staring at her feet. It was no good having a staring match with her, she tried that once and Visenya still won.

Visenya stares her down for a moment longer before glancing at Viserys, “Straighten your doublet…it’s wrinkled.” Then she turns and leaves, her footsteps echoing down the hall before she pauses once more, Rhaenyra halfway reaching for the chamber door to shut it. Before she can she hears her Aunt Visenya add, “and Rhaenyra…if you aren’t down in the hall by seven I’ll tell Maegor to get you down there…anyway he can. Even if it means he’s got to carry you over his shoulder kicking and screaming the whole way. Don’t embarrass yourself darling, just be on time.”

Rhaenyra slams the door in a huff as Visenya walks away, glaring holes into the wood, “Bitch!”

“Aunt Visenya only wants our family to look presentable,” Viserys tells her as Rhaenyra digs through her clothing trunk for a clean gown.

“She’s a scheming bitch is what she is,” Rhaenyra scowls at her brother, “always undermining Mother. You see how they bicker over Maegor and Daeyra. Mother clearly doesn’t want Daeyra to marry him!”

“Daeyra _wants_ to marry him,” Viserys tells her, “That’s the difference.”

“ _Why_?” Rhaenyra sputters as she stares at her brother, “He’s absolutely _foul_!”

“Well I should consider myself lucky then,” Viserys smiles wryly at his sister, “that my betrothed finds her brother so undesirable. I shan’t have to worry about you pining after him once were married.”

“Oh please Viserys,” Rhaenyra grimaces, “Can we _not_ discuss our betrothal? We’re not even officially betrothed yet.”

“When we turn sixteen we will be,” Viserys tells her, “Two years sister…two years and your stuck with me forever.” He grins at her and ducks when she throws her shoe at him playfully.

“Technically I’m your big sister,” she tells him pointedly, “I was born a minute before you.”

 

* * *

 

**Sansa (POV)**

 

Years have passed so quickly it seemed. Daeyra was just a babe in her arms and now her daughter was sixteen and her betrothal to Maegor would officially begin soon.  She thought she had time to deal with this, time to sway Daeyra away from him.

And she tried.

And tried….and tried…

How many different suitors did she push into Daeyra’s path in hopes that maybe her daughter would change her mind about Maegor and plead with her Father to betroth her to someone else. All the while in the background Visenya smirked and watched with glee and Maegor and Daeyra ever grew attached to one another. Triumph forever glittered in her eyes when she and Sansa battled silently over whether they would marry. It is in an argument that’s gone on for years, and Sansa’s kept her silence about why she doesn’t want Maegor to marry Daeyra.

 

At dinner, they share a meal with the Baratheons. Sansa turns her gaze upon Aegon, his silver hair was a little whiter now and shorter, his face showed the signs of stress and age but gracefully. Aegon was just as handsome as when she met him, but Sansa thinks he’ll always be perfect to her. There were bits of gray in her once auburn curls, she notices them from time to time when she curls her hair in the morning. It doesn’t bother her, she has lived a good life with Aegon and Visenya. Aegon has given her three beautiful children, and a home here at Dragonstone. Across the table Visenya is smirking into her cup, her gaze turned towards her son. Maegor recently returned this evening from a hunting trip. Beside him Daeyra is seated, and she’s stealthily taking bits of his desert right off his plate when he wasn’t looking. They always played around with each other like that. Daeyra was an entirely different person around Maegor. Her daughter was so much like her…and yet she wasn’t.

Her daughter was very nearly every bit as much Sansa as she was Arya.

Daeyra could definitely surprise her sometimes.

She was close with her Aunt Visenya, something that irked Sansa. She knew what Visenya was up to and she didn’t trust her one bit. Daeyra played right into her plans though, but of course it didn’t help that Maegor has been at Daeyra’s side nearly every day since she was born. It would make sense that Daeyra would love him, but Sansa still feared what he’d become.

Yet it didn’t make sense.

He certainly didn’t seem so bad. Joffrey hadn’t seemed bad either though, and he turned into a monster. Maegor isn’t like Joffrey though, he doesn’t treat Daeyra the way Joffrey had treated her. Was she making a mistake trying to separate them?

“My Queen,” Aegon’s voice near her ear says softly and it snaps Sansa out of the deep thoughts she been caught in.

“Yes my love?” Sansa shifts her gaze towards her husband and smiles at Aegon.

“I was asking about the preparations for the betrothal…we must make an official announcement soon. Orys wanted to know if you planned on doing it this month.”

The table falls silent at these words and even Daeyra is craning to look around her brother to hear her Mother’s response. Sansa glances at her nervously before she delicately wipes her mouth with her napkin before setting it on the table. “I believe so yes.”

“Excellent,” Aegon smiles as he looks at Orys, “I told you we’d keep to the schedule.”

“I never doubted either of you your graces,” Orys smiles at them both, “though I wonder what the faith will have to say about their marriage.”

“The faith will say nothing,” Maegor cuts in as he sips from his wine goblet, “It is our tradition, one handed down for centuries.”

“I adopted the faith of the seven as my own when I took the throne my son,” Aegon tells Maegor pointedly.

“They’ve known of your marriage to Aunt Sansa for years and have never raised a protest against us, what is it to them now if I wed Daeyra?”

“It will still cause tensions with them I fear,” Orys replies as he leans to one side to make room for the servant girl filling his wine goblet, “we must tighten the guard,” Orys tells them all, “the high houses are expecting you to marry your children into theirs…naturally people might feel a bit offended.”

“My Father refused Sharra Arryn years ago when she was offered to him,” Maegor scoffs lightly; “I hardly see why it’s difficult for them to understand now. He was already wed twice over to both my lady Mother and my late Aunt Queen Rhaenys.”

Aenys stiffens across the table at the mention of his Mother’s name. It’s been so long since he heard it, and his purple gaze shifts stealthily towards his Father to see his reaction. If Aegon had been affected by it he showed no sign of it. His Father even to this day still missed Rhaenys, but his Aunt Sansa had mended many of the wounds on his heart caused by her death. Beside him, Rhaenyra steps on his foot and motions with her eyebrows towards her Mother. Noting the quiet look on his Aunt’s face he wonders if she was hiding her emotions as well. Maegor often liked to bring up Queen Rhaenys just to spite her.

“If everyone is ready I’ll send for the desert,” Sansa says after a long pause, moving aside to allow the servants to clear the table.

“Oh yes please,” Orys smiles cheerfully at her, “I hear its apple cake fresh from Highgarden.”

“It is,” Sansa grins at him, “I was just there a few weeks ago to attend the apple festival with my daughter Daeyra.”

“It was lovely,” Daeyra chimes in with a polite smile, “Maegor won the tourney as well.”

“He crowned her queen of love and beauty,” Visenya adds in, smirking at Sansa from across the table. It wasn’t any secret that the two queens were at odds with one another. King Aegon did his best to keep the peace between them but there were days when he could do nothing but hope they didn’t break out into a physical fight rather than a verbal one. However it was when he’d come home to them arguing and to his surprise, found Sansa wielding Dark Sister rather than Visenya that he knew both his wives had been pushed too far. How Sansa had wrestled Dark Sister away from Visenya he’ll never know, but he took the sword from her and sent them both to opposite ends of the castle. This whole mess had been over who Daeyra would marry and it was high time he put an end to it.  Once they’d calmed down he’d sat them both at his study desk and told them both that Daeyra would marry Maegor, and there would be no more discussion of it.

Sansa hadn’t been pleased and Visenya had been overly so.

Aegon had no choice in the matter, he’d given Sansa the opportunity to explain her feelings about the situation but she refused to tell him why. Afterwards, the silent battle of two queens began.  They never argued or so much as raised their voices with one another especially in Aegon’s presence. Instead they worked behind the scenes and pushed Daeyra back and forth across an invisible chess board.  Sansa’s first move had been to introduce Maegor to Ceryse Hightower.  When that failed to entice him she shifted her gaze upon Highgarden and Tyrsta Tyrell. Tyrsta was no Margarey however, and failed to keep his attention. Visenya turned her sights on Daeyra, took her under her wing and taught her to use a sword and to fly a dragon. She would often take Daeyra with her to Kings Landing to visit with Maegor as well, much to Sansa’s dismay.

Now, sixteen years later Sansa faced defeat. It was irksome to watch as well, because Visenya loved to rub her face in it. Aegon wasn’t a fool though; he could see that his Queens were still at war with one another. Just as long as they kept the fighting at a minimum and nobody drew weapons again, he’d live with it.

“Mother may I be excused?” Daeyra asks softly, blinking bright lilac eyes the exact shade of her Father’s at Sansa.

“Yes of course my love,” Sansa smiles as she watches her daughter bid goodnight to all present and retire to her chambers.

It wasn’t until Maegor requested the same thing that Sansa caught onto what was happening. She stared flatly at Visenya, desert fork clenched tightly in her right hand. If she stabbed her sister in the hand with this, it might not go over well with Aegon.

Then of course, she had to worry about where Maegor had run off to with Daeyra.

 

* * *

 

**Daeyra (POV)**

 

She liked sitting with him on the dragon steps under the moonlight. Leaning her head on his shoulder she entwines her fingers with his and watches the sea below. Soon they would be officially betrothed and her beloved brother would always be at her side.

“Why do Mother and Aunt Visenya bicker so?” Daeyra asks her elder brother curiously.

“Mother isn’t sure,” Maegor replies, “when I ask her she tells me she doesn’t understand why Aunt Sansa doesn’t want us to marry. She tells me she thinks because Aunt Sansa wasn’t raised to marry brother to sister that it bothers her.”

“Well it isn’t like your going to bite me,” Daeyra tells him with a little laugh, “You’d never hurt me.”

“No of course not,” Maegor tells her honestly, “I don’t however care for the way that Clayse Tyrell has been speaking to you.”

“How did you hear about that?” Daeyra raises her head to look at him, “It was a month ago at the Red Keep. I wasn’t flirting with him Maegor.”

“I know,” he says as he kisses her knuckles, “You’ve got better manners than that.”

Daeyra stares at him for a moment before her noses wrinkles with anger and her purple eyes flash dangerously, “Is _that_ why you broke his nose Maegor? At the tourney…I had thought you’d hit him awfully hard.”

“Did I lose my temper because some uppity highborn lordling was openly flirting with my sister in public in the middle of court mind you, just so he can use it in his schemes to overthrow me? Yes…I might have gotten a bit angry.”

“Oh!” Daeyra smacks him hard on the shoulder, glaring at him, “He wasn’t trying to overthrow you! Didn’t you even ask anyone what the conversation was about? Surely the Master of Whisperers would have told you anything you wanted to know.”

“ _Ow_!” he winces but she knows she didn’t actually hurt him, “and yes I did ask him…he told me Clayse was talking about some kind of flower they grew in Highgarden and it was the exact shade of your eyes.”

“I wanted the flowers for a dye Maegor,” Daeyra glares at him, “I wanted to make fabric for a _dress_!”

Maegor is silent for a few moments before he responds quietly, almost sheepishly, “Oh.”

Daeyra irritably turns her head away, glaring out at the sea when he tries to take her hand. She pulls her hands free of his grasp but he won’t have that either, catching her face between his palms as he presses his lips to hers. “Oh no you don’t!” Daeyra tells him firmly, trying to shove him away. He’s relentless however and she starts to giggle when he topples over onto her in his attempts to kiss her. “Stop it Maegor!” She laughs aloud, her face flushed with amusement.

“ _Get off of her_ ,” Her Mother’s voice is as sharp as a whip and Daeyra jumps at the sound. Maegor eases himself off of Daeyra and looks up at his Aunt wearily. “Daeyra, go inside.”

“But Mother…” Daeyra says quickly, “We were only playing around…”

“Get inside, _now_.” Sansa says firmly, glaring at Maegor as her daughter gets to her feet and straightens her skirts before sweeping past her Mother angrily. Sansa in turn takes one last look at Maegor before she turns and follows Daeyra back into the keep.


	115. Epilogue: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey everybody! Just so you know when I finish with the epilogue I'll be starting a spin-off series entitled, "The Spaces In Between" which will be a series of one-shots surrounding the life and times of Sansa and her children and their lives. The epilogue is more of a summary then detail, and the one-shots will go into detail.

**Sansa**

 

“My darling,” Sansa begins tentatively, watching Daeyra pace the room before her. “I understand you have….feelings…for your brother. However you are unwed and your chastity is important right now. I feel it is necessary that a septa remain with you until you are wed…simply to ensure that nothing untoward happens between you and your brother. I understand that you feel for him, but those things cannot take place…”

“I wasn’t doing anything _wrong_!” Daeyra snaps at Sansa, “Maegor and I were just playing around…I was angry at him and he was just trying to make me smile and stop being upset with him.”

“My child,” Sansa sighs, “We should probably talk…properly sit down and discuss what it is to be married. I know that your septa has prepared you for some of it, but if you have questions…if you’re curious about anything you can ask me anything you want.”

“Aunt Visenya already did that,” Daeyra waves her mother off, “I heard Viserys talking once about this tavern girl…”

“ _What_?” Sansa blinks at her daughter worriedly.

“Oh it’s nothing honestly,” Daeyra changes the subject quickly, “I only meant that…”

“Your Aunt Visenya already discussed it with you did she?” Sansa says quietly. It burned that Visenya would do that, needling her way into Daeyra’s life and trying to control her daughter liked she tried to control everything else. “Did she explain to you the nature of being wed? Your duties that is?”

“Not exactly,” Daeyra said softly as she went to sit with her mother near the window, “she explained to me how children are made…what Maegor would require of me as a wife.”

Sansa smiled gently at her daughter, “There’s much more to it than giving him children my love,” Sansa tells her softly, “So much more.”

Finally…something Visenya hasn’t beaten her too yet.

 The day of the betrothal her daughter was clothed in black and red brocade, her silvery hair braided and curled so that it swung down her back neatly. Sansa was proud of her daughter, standing next to Maegor before the court with their Father seated behind them on the Iron Throne, announcing the betrothal. She smiled and thanked any who congratulated them. Daeyra was well taught and well educated, Sansa had given her everything she could, taught her everything her Mother had taught her. She feared though, for her safety. Maegor did not show any signs of aggression towards her, but he was certainly the terror of the harbor village and was known for being rather brutal with the servants if they made mistakes.

Watching her eldest daughter Sansa wondered often times what was going through her head when she looked at Maegor. They’d spoken of marriage and its duties and Daeyra seemed alright with it for the most part. Nervous about others though, and unsure of herself.  It felt like talking to Arya about marriage really, though Daeyra was a combination of both Sansa and Arya both. Right now, her daughter looked composed and calm beside her brother, her held her hand lightly as she stood beside him. If Daeyra seemed nervous, she did not show it.

However two days from this very moment would show a side of Daeyra nobody ever expected to see.

 

* * *

 

“Aegon,” Sansa says, rocking her sleeping husband awake, “Aegon wake up!”

“What is it?” he grumbles half into his pillow, his silvery hair tousled from sleep, “Sansa what time is it?”

“Aegon she’s gone,” Sansa says feverently, “Our daughter is missing!”

“ _Now_ Aegon,” Visenya’s voice as she yanks the blankets off of him, “quickly we have to find her,” Visenya says as she grabs scattered clothing from the floor and a nearby chair and tosses them on the bed, “Daeyra’s stolen Blackfyre.”

“ _What_?” Aegon rolls over, climbing out of bed. His expression is a mixture of shock and surprise. He’d never imagined his prim and proper daughter to outright steal a dragon like that, even if said dragon belonged to her Mother. “Visenya I’ll take Balarion and search for her.”

Visenya nods, “I’ll go with you on Vhagar, Maegor’s leading a party of men to search the Island.”

“I hardly think she’ll be on the island,” Sansa tells Visenya, “she’s got a dragon…she could be anywhere right now.”

“Precisely,” Visenya tells her, “If I wanted to run away and hide from my parents, I’d stay right here on the island. They’d never find me because they’d expect me to run farther.”

“You did run farther,” Aegon comments as he tugs his shirt on over his head, “I remember, I’m the one that found you.”

“I was on the island first,” Visenya rolls her eyes, “I only ran _because_ you found me.”

“I want to help,” Sansa says firmly.

“Oh I think you’ve done plenty,” Visenya snaps at her, “she only ran away because you frightened her.”

“I was only telling her what my Mother told me about marriage…she needed to be prepared, she needed to know her duties to Maegor.”

“Why do you think I neglected to tell her particulars hmm?” Visenya scowls at her, “because when I was her age my Mother told me the particulars and I ran like hell the moment I was free.”

“An offense I’m still wounded about mind you,” Aegon comments lightly.

“Now isn’t the time for jokes Aegon,” Visenya rolls her eyes at her brother, “Daeyra is missing and it’s the middle of the night. She’s rubbish at flying at night, we all know it.”

“Sansa,” Aegon says as he quickly kisses her forehead, “stay here…she might come back and if she does she’ll need her Mother.”

Sansa nods, watching the two siblings scramble out the door and down towards the Dragon pits. With a heavy sigh she just stands there and worries for her daughter, wondering where she could have gotten off too. It wasn’t like Daeyra to run away like this, but then again….that leaves open the question, did anyone truly know Daeyra at all?

 

* * *

 

               When the sun brushes over the horizon and Sansa watches Balarion sail over the mountains of Westeros and across the harbor towards Dragonstone, she feels her heart plummet into her stomach. Blackfyre was behind him, but Aenys was on his back and not Daeyra. When she reaches the dragon pits, Aegon looks worn out and sweaty alongside his son who looked just as tired as his Father.

“Anything?” Sansa says softly, worriedly.

“Nothing,” Aegon sighs as he wipes his face, “I can’t find her…neither can Visenya. We found Blackfyre at the Red Keep however. He must have tried to find his way home and ended up there instead.”

“She could be _hurt_ ,” Sansa says frantically, “what if she’s hurt Aegon?”

“Maegor is scouring the countryside as we speak;” Aegon tells her gently, “Visenya went with him to cover the mountain ranges. We’ll find her Sansa.”

 It won’t be for years however, that Princess Daeyra is found. Some accounts say that her Father, King Aegon _had_ found her but promised to keep her location a secret.  The reasons for her disappearance are unknown, and only flimsy rumors and gossip served to provide any explanation, none of which were even worthy of repeating. Some whispers however spoke of Winterfell, that she was hiding there with the Starks. Some whisper that she went beyond the wall to explore the lands beyond it. Others say she was hiding in Dorne with Prince Gyan. As the years passed and no sign of the Princess could be found, Prince Maegor took another bride in Ceryse Hightower. This was an unprecedented event in any case, as Queen Sansa had suggested her once before when Prince Maegor was younger.

 

* * *

 

**Rhaenyra**

 

Her Mother was beautiful even with grey in her hair. Her Mother however, was entirely inconsolable. She feared the worst for her health because of it. As they stand together before the funeral pyre, Rhaenyra fights tears that burn behind her eyelids. Beside her Viserys holds her hand and on her other side, their first born child, Prince Aerys. Her Mother stands beside her Aunt Visenya, her gown as dark as the night sky over their heads. Mother was always so strong even in times of strife, though tears still slid silently down her pale cheeks. Her eyes were hollow, empty and lifeless as she stared at the pyre.

It had taken three people, herself, her Aunt Visenya and her brother Viserys to get her Mother to let go of her Father’s body. He’d died with her at his side on Dragonstone at the age of sixty-four. The Maesters tell her that he’d had a stroke, and slipped away from this world in the arms of his wife, surrounded by their children.  Mother had no life in her anymore without him, and as they walked back up to the keep her Mother stood on the beach and stared out at the ocean without saying a word. Viserys opted to stand guard of her; he feared she might walk into the sea.

When months pass and there is no sign of life in her, Visenya steps in. The only time her Mother has left her bed chambers was for Aenys’s coronation. Right now as she sits in her solar, watching her young son play on the floor by her feet she can hear her Aunt Visenya arguing with her Mother.

Good.

Aenys needs her Mother back in Kings Landing. She did not trust her Aunt Visenya in the slightest, she did not trust the way she despised her nephew. Aenys and his wife and all of their children moved into the Aegonfort, and Visenya who’d lived there for years was forced to move back to Dragonstone with her son Maegor. Maegor was given Dragonstone in turn, and now she had to endure her brother’s endless string of cruelties. He was hard on the servants, harder on the stable hands and worse with the villagers down by the harbor. He was strict and serious and everything her Father wasn’t.

She thinks her Mother will never recover from the loss of her Father until one day the dowager Queen got up at dawn and flew to the Aegonfort to be with Aenys. There she stayed too, for five years until Aenys grew deathly ill.

 

* * *

 

**Sansa**

The King is dead.

It was the first thing out of the mouth of a servant boy running down the halls past her chamber. She jerked out of bed as fast as she could, wearily yanking on her gown before hurrying down the hall to Aenys’s chambers. Visenya was already there, looking somber and cold. She’d spent weeks at Aenys’s side, tending to him. He wasn’t getting any better unfortunately, no matter what she tried. This was a moment in history that Sansa had no guide for. She knew nothing of how Aenys really died, but watching Visenya and the way she watched as the maester’s checked Aenys over to ensure that he was truly dead made the blood boil in her veins. Or perhaps it was the moment when they confirmed his death that she left for Pentos on Vhagar to fetch Maegor.

She bides her time.

She didn’t give a damn what the history books might say, she wouldn’t let what Visenya did slide, not this time. When she returns, she is alone or so Sansa believes. It takes all of two minutes for her to cross the room and slap Visenya so hard across the face her hand aches from the impact of it. Then she stares, blinking at her hand and then at the ever reddening mark across Visenya’s cheek.

“You _murdered_ him,” Sansa spat coldly, venom dripping in her voice.

Visenya raises her head to look at Sansa; the impact of the slap had caught her off guard and knocked her head aside. It was a shock to be honest, she had no idea Sansa had it in her. “He was _ruining_ this kingdom…he was dying.”

“You murdered him,” Sansa snarls, “You miserable _cow_ , you killed him! Your own nephew!”

“It was a mercy,” says a cold voice, one that freezes the blood in Sansa’s veins. Maegor stands behind her near the door to the solar she stands in with Visenya. She turns her head to the side, peering at him from her peripherals. “He was dying and in pain. Mother ended that pain.”

The word _usurper_ burned on Sansa’s lips but she knew better than to say it aloud. Instead she looks at Visenya, turns burning in her eyes.

“Kneel before your King,” Visenya tells Sansa firmly, motioning towards Maegor. If Visenya was trying to save Sansa from the dungeons, she definitely took the hint. Even after she slapped Visenya for all she was worth, Visenya was still trying to save her.

Stiffly Sansa turns, her face a neutral mask of docile obedience as she bows her head respectfully, “Your grace.” Just like a dance she learned when she was just a child; Sansa took one last look at Visenya before she turned to leave.

“You will return to Dragonstone,” Maegor adds as she goes, “and you will remain there for the foreseeable future.”

“Yes your grace,” Sansa replies obediently and without protest. Maegor was a dangerous man, and now a very dangerous King. Chin up, armor on, Sansa returned to Dragonstone without quarrel and remained there.


	116. Epilogue: Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Rhaenyra**

 

“ _Usurper_!” Rhaenyra crows loudly, hurling a porcelain vase at the wall in front of her, “Viserys I won’t stand for it! Maegor has gone too far!”

“She moves quickly,” Viserys replies, “I’ll give her that. Flew all the way to Pentos and back in little more than a day and a half.”

“Why couldn’t that miserable shit just stay in Pentos!” Rhaenyra snarls angrily, “and the _nerve_ he had, speaking to Mother that way, _commanding_ her to stay here.”

“Our brother is the King, Rhaenyra,” Viserys says with a sigh, “we have no choice and neither does Mother.”

“He usurped our nephew Aegon!” Rhaenyra tells him, “Will we do nothing then? What of Rhaena, what of her children?”

“We do nothing,” Viserys tells her calmly. When his sister-wife was in a state like this there was no reasoning with her. All he could do was stay calm and hope she follows suit.

“ _I’ll kill him_ ,” Rhaenyra snarls viciously, “I’ll slit his fucking throat while he sleeps!”

“ _Rhaenyra_ ,” Viserys says sharply, “You’ll do no such thing. Keep your voice down, if anyone heard you…if Aunt Visenya heard you…she’s never liked you anyways, if she heard you say something like that it would give her a reason to have you executed.”

“Your brother is right,” Sansa’s voice fills the room as she steps into their private chambers, “My darling…I know you angry but threatening your brother is dangerous territory. Already your nephew Aegon seeks to dethrone him, he’s rounding up banners as we speak.”

“Then we should join him,” Rhaenyra presses her Mother, “I know you can’t tolerate this either Mother.”

“I am loyal to my King,” Sansa says as if it were a practiced manuscript she’d read a hundred times, “I love my King…as should both of you. We are his family and his subjects…we will heed his word. Viserys…Maegor has granted you Lordship over Dragonstone and the right to wield Dark Sister. Rhaenyra you are now the Lady of Dragonstone and your behavior does not reflect that.”

Rhaenyra couldn’t fathom her Mother’s unyielding loyalty to her treacherous brother. He usurped Aenys’s eldest son and stole the throne from Aenys’s bloodline with the help of his Mother. His head should be on a spike right now for attempting such traitorous acts, and yet he’s sitting on the Iron Throne surrounded by his horde of brides who’ve failed to give him any children.

“It’s doesn’t matter anyways,” Rhaenyra says venomously, “He’ll never have children…he probably can’t even keep it up long enough to do that.”

“ _Rhaenyra_!” Both Viserys and her Mother say at the same time. Viserys because it was foul to even have the mental image of his brother having sex, and her Mother because her daughter had the gall to speak of such things in front of her.

“ _Honestly_ ,” Rhaenyra rolls her eyes at both of them before she looks at her Mother, “Will you do nothing?”

“Believe me,” Sansa says as she turns to stare out the window, “I’ve done enough.”

Later on when Rhaenyra finds out just what _exactly_ her Mother has done, she can hardly believe it. _Finally_ that miserable hag got what was coming to her. She certainly hoped her Mother slapped her hard, especially after what she did to Aenys.

Or at least what she thinks her Aunt Visenya did to Aenys.

Her Mother won’t speak a word about it, no matter how she pesters her.

Oh _bother_.

 

* * *

 

**Daeyra**

 

It’s been years since she’s been to Dragonstone. She’s only been there a few times over the last few years since she left, once for her Father’s funeral, then for her brothers, and now for her Mother. Maegor had given up years ago trying to convince her to come home. He learned long ago that she would do nothing she didn’t want too. She proved that when she ran away from home at six and ten and the only person who could find her was her Father. He tried to force her to come home too, and she might have but when she explained her reasoning…he let her go.

He had been forced to marry Aunt Visenya.

She supposes when he heard her reasoning, he felt guilty.

When she gets word from Viserys that her Mother has passed, it almost breaks her. She was lonely without her family, but the truth of her Mother’s existence still burns. She’s the only one to ever know the truth, and Viserys is the only one left living who knew where she was hiding. Seated on the back of Blackfyre, (her dragon by birthright mind you, she didn’t give a damn what Maegor said) she watches the funeral pyre on the beach below. Maegor isn’t present, but her Aunt Visenya is. Maegor’s been King for years now, she imagines he’s far too busy stealing the wives of others and murdering their husbands to claim them.

It irks her the way he’s become.

He was never like this before, but the years have changed him. He’s become cruel and hateful, and it makes her heart ache to see how her family abandons him. When Aunt Visenya dies, she wonders what will become of him. Smiling faintly to herself she watches the funeral pyre burn. Her Mother was at peace now, and she was with her Father at last. She had heard stories of the Dowager Queens grief, that she nearly died from it. Then one day, she simply got out of bed and went to her brother Aenys’s side to help him govern the realm. Brushing the wind from her face she stiffens at the sound of a dragon cry, and she knew it was Balarion.

If Maegor was nearby, she needed to leave.

Maegor though he gave up on trying to find her would force her to wed him if he found her. _Technically_ , they’ve been betrothed since she was sixteen. Stealthily she takes flight, Blackfyre silent as he disappears into the night sky above the funeral, nobody save Visenya noticed her, and even as her lilac gaze caught sight of the dragon above her she said nothing. She met her aunt’s gaze evenly, and knew without a doubt she’s been disowned for her actions. Visenya’s eyes were glacial, a warning and a threat that she should never come back.

I won.

Daeyra smirks to herself; she beat her Aunt at her own game and won. She never understood why her Mother and her Aunt bickered over who she would marry. They did it for years and years, and then one day she happened upon her Mother’s journals. It was a jarring shock into reality, the idea that her Mother was a Stark, that she wasn’t who she claimed to be.

She never told anyone what she found…no one except her Father.

* * *

 

**From the accounts of Maester Baaraden of the Citadel:**

 

               The following accounts are a historical documentation of Princess Daeyra of the House Targaryen, later to be known as Queen Daeyra. Some say that her decent into madness began with the death of her twin siblings and their children save for their youngest, Prince Daeron. In the onslaught of rioting against King Maegor, Prince Viserys and his sister-wife Princess Rhaenyra were openly murdered while on tour to Highgarden by House Mercel, a lower house that supported Prince Aegon before his death at the battle of Stonebridge.  In her grief it is said, Princess Daeyra went mad. She unleashed the wroth of her dragon, Blackfyre upon the whole of the Mercel keep and the surrounding countryside, killing hundreds and rendering the Mercel keep into nothing but a blackened hunk of smoking rock.

Many claim it was akin to the destruction of Harrenhal.

In fact, her rage was so fierce and burned so hotly it took the combined efforts of both her brother King Maegor and the dowager Queen Visenya to stop her. The soul surviving child from the blaze was Prince Daeron, who Princess Daeyra carried back to Dragonstone for safety before yielding her dragon and the sword, Dark Sister to her elder brother King Maegor. From that day on the majority of Westeros as well as the history books would know her as Daeyra the Unmerciful.

 

* * *

 

**Daeyra**

She had thought she’d known grief when she lost her parents. Yet as she watches the Mercel Keep burn she feels as though nothing will ever sate the rage burning in her heart. She feels as if she could breathe fire, as if it would burn so hot she could set the whole of Westeros ablaze. She hunted them all down, every last one of them and razed the countryside with flame and destruction. It wasn’t enough though, it was _never_ enough. It wasn’t until her brother ran her down on Balarion that she yielded, but not before she saw Daeron to safety.

Looking back on it, she was grateful that Maegor found her, if he hadn’t she might have just kept on burning villages and keeps, an endless onslaught of rage in her hunt for those who murdered her siblings. He had her confined to the Rhaenys wing of the Red Keep, this part of the keep was mostly finished being built. She had to hand it to him; he was doing a good job at ensuring the construction was finished.

Silently she hears Visenya walk into the room and she turns to face her Aunt. It’s been so long since they’d been in the same room together. Once, she loved her Aunt Visenya deeply. Now they were enemies, now her Aunt hated her.

“Thus ends the House of Mercel,” Visenya sighs pausing in the middle of the room to straighten a table runner on a small circular table.

“They deserved it,” Daeyra says coldly, “They murdered Viserys and Rhaenyra…their children…”

“Your wrath murdered an entire household, their banners as well as setting half the countryside on fire. You also destroyed two villages.”

“They were harboring traitors,” Daeyra sneers at her Aunt, “They deserved to burn.”

“Your right,” Visenya says after a long pause, surprising her, “They did deserve to burn. Any threat to the crown is a threat that must be removed. They were hiding traitors to the crown.” Visenya steps up beside her, brushing a stray lock of silvery red hair away from her nieces face, “good girl.”

 

* * *

 

When she is released from her confinement she is forbidden to leave the Red Keep. So instead she bides her time spying on Maegor’s wives, prying into his personal business and prodding every whisperer in Kings Landing to discover all of its secrets. Visenya had taught her well, if she wanted control of a situation she needed to understand her surroundings. Her Mother taught her to survive in the court of the King, her Aunt taught her to thrive in it.

The day she discovers Tyanna of the Tower’s secret, she means to kill the bitch. Already she’s lost to many, and when she corners Tyanna and forces her to confess her crimes, she’s seeing red. The next thing she knows, Tyanna is screaming at the top of her lungs and Daeyra has her by the hair so tightly it threatens to rip it right out of her scalp as she drags her towards the solar balcony outside. “You murdered my brothers wives out of jealousy you callous bitch!” Daeyra snarls at her, “You don’t love him Tyanna, your obsessed with him. Did you really think killing his wives and their unborn children was going to endear him to you?” Daeyra can’t think with all the rage pouring through her veins. She wonders where the strength she found to drag Tyanna halfway over the balcony came from.

               Vaguely she realizes that somebody is yelling in the background. Tyanna is screaming, her body perilously balanced on the edge of the balcony. If Daeyra moved an inch Tyanna would go right over the edge. When she looked back she realized Visenya was standing there, yelling at her.

“No Daeyra don’t!” Visenya shouts, careful not to startle her. It was clear that all rational thought had fled Daeyra’s mind at the moment. “If you kill her you’ll be executed!”

“She murdered his wives…his children!” Daeyra screams at her Aunt, “she _poisoned_ them!”

“I’m aware,” Visenya tells her firmly, “I heard you two shouting half way from across the keep.”

Vaguely she’s aware that Tyanna was choking, Daeyra’s fingers were digging into her throat. She stares down at the dark haired beauty and a fresh burst of rage races through her blood.

“Daeyra _stop_ ,” another voice, now Maegors, “drop her.”

“Do you want me to drop her Maegor?” Daeyra says almost hysterically, a wild madness glittering in her eyes, “I’ll drop her if you want me to. _I’ll drop her_!”

Maegor pauses, a muscle ticking in his jaw before he says, “Daeyra, bring Tyanna back onto the balcony and let her go, then step away from her.”

It was like cornering a wild animal.

Maegor was edging slowly closer, as was Visenya. Slowly Daeyra reluctantly pulled Tyanna back onto the balcony and released her, watching as the other woman slumps wearily onto the stone floor, gasping for air.  She expects Maegor to be angry with her, but instead he does something she doesn’t expect.

“Daeyra,” Maegor says quietly with his gaze trained on Tyanna, “Do you still carry the dagger I gave you for your sixteenth name day?”

“Yes,” Daeyra says wearily, unsure of where he was going with this.

“Give it here,” Maegor says, holding out his hand. It was clear he had a dagger of his own on his belt but he wanted hers, it made no sense. Cautiously she pulls it from her skirts and hands it over, watching him unsheathe it and examine the shimmering valerian blade. “Good…you’ve kept it sharp and well maintained like I taught you too.” After a pause he looks at his Mother and his sister, “Leave us.”

* * *

 

She leaves with her Aunt and the moment they are out the door Visenya is yanking her roughly by the arm down the hall to her private chambers. Inside Visenya takes her to a tiny alcove filled with herbs and dried plants. Daeyra has never seen anything like this before, and she wondered when her Aunt took up alchemy. Before she can ask however, her cheek is stinging and there’s blood on her lips from where she bit them when Visenya slapped her.

“You stupid girl,” Visenya hisses angrily at Daeyra, “what madness would drive you to murder one of the Kings wives openly?”

Rubbing her cheek she watches Visenya light a tiny flame beneath a metal basin and pull down herbs and odd looking plants she’s never seen before. “What are doing?”

Visenya’s lilac gaze meets hers as she replies, “Teaching you how to protect the crown without getting caught.”

 


	117. Epilogue: Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

She stares silently at the bodies of her twin siblings. They were washed and dressed in fine brocade clothing in the Targaryen family colors. They looked so peaceful as they lie there, Daeyra could almost convince herself they were simply sleeping. They were to be given a funeral fit for a King, something Daeyra imagined was Maegor’s doing. The damage she did when she razed half of Westeros during her bought of madness was nearly cleaned up. It turned out she did him a favor anyways, taking out key players in the rebellion that fought against him by happy accident. He had tailors take her measurements and bring up fine brocade and silk gowns for her to wear, bring jewels to string around her throat and make-up to color her cheeks and lips. She supposed she’d need to clean herself up at some point. She’s been so forlorn lately since her brother and sister died. Clearly though, she couldn’t have returned to her brother’s side any sooner. Catching Tyanna of the Tower was only the beginning of a series of threats she’s managed to unravel between herself and her Aunt Visenya.

He’d cut out her heart.

The morning after she’d caught Tyanna, she found her dagger cleaned and spotless lying on the table beside her bed in its sheath. Then she found out Tyanna’s head was rotting on a spike and her heart had been fed to Balarion. Maegor was as unmerciful to traitors as she was it seemed.

That was an amusing point too.

People were calling her _Unmerciful_ , Daeyra the Unmerciful, just as they called her brother cruel. They made quite the pair, the two of them. It saddened her to think these people slandered his name even though they didn’t know him like she did. Maegor did what he did to keep control of the Kingdom, though she did not approve of some of his actions. Some were necessary; some were to inspire fear and respect of the Throne.  

They were all hypocrites, the whole lot of them. The nerve they had calling her unmerciful when the Mercel’s slaughtered her siblings and their children. She ended the House of Mercel for that, and made sure any loyal to them were executed as well. She could scarcely remember that day, she’d been so lost in grief and rage she vaguely remembered doing any of it. It wasn’t until Maegor hunted her down on Balarion, the great shadow of her Father’s dragon hovering overhead that snapped her back into reality.

Now she was preparing to attend a funeral for her brother and sister. Tonight they would be burned on a pyre as is tradition for her family and then put to rest in the Targaryen family tomb alongside her parents ashes. It makes tears burn in her eyes, trying to imagine that. Rhaenyra with her wild laughter and her passionate love for her brother Viserys. Viserys the voice of reason, the only one who could ever calm her down when she’d worked herself up into a temper. Their young son, Prince Daeron was living with Aenys’s children back on Dragonstone where they’d been confined by order of Maegor.

She did not want him alone with those people…she didn’t trust them.

“You need to ready yourself for the funeral,” Maegor says quietly from the door behind her. She doesn’t turn to look at him, she doesn’t want to look at him.

“I’ll be along shortly,” she replies evenly, careful to keep the pain out of her voice. She never liked being weak before him, even when she was younger.

“Daeyra,” he sighs heavily, “the servants tell me you haven’t been eating.”

“I’m nine and thirty Maegor,” Daeyra snaps irritably at her brother, “I’m not a child anymore.”

“Then stop acting like one,” he snarls back at her, his temper flaring.

“Piss off,” Daeyra snaps back hotly, “I only want to sit here and mourn my siblings…why can’t you just leave me in peace for a while?”

“They were _my_ brother and sister too you know,” he replies, refusing to take the bait. He’d left her in peace for _years_. He steps closer, noticing the silent tears burning down her cheeks. She never cried in front of him, it was startling. When he reaches out to wipe the tears away she swats his hand away and jerks away from his touch. This only serves to anger him further and he grabs her wrist, yanking her towards him. She struggles against him, twisting in his grip in her attempts to escape him.

“Let go!” she yells in his face, half way tempted to kick him right in the balls.

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” he hisses, one arm circling around her waist as he yanks her up against him, pressing her up against him. He’s gentle when he wipes the tears from her face but when she tries to squirm away from his touch he tangles his fingers in her hair and yanks her head back so he can kiss her. She bites down hard on his lip, drawing blood. He hasn’t kissed her since she was sixteen, since that night on the dragon steps. She yanks at his hair as hard as she can and recalls a time when she was very young and she’d ripped a chunk of his hair out because he dragged her out of the rain when she was happy to stay outside and play in it. He’d thrown her over his shoulder and she’d kicked and screamed all the way into the castle, and just to spite him, yanked his hair out.

Aenys had laughed at him for weeks, his younger brother walking around with a bald patch on his head. She starts to giggle against his lips and he pulls back, looking perturbed. “How is my kissing you so amusing?”

“I was just thinking,” Daeyra tells him softly, “Of when I ripped your hair out.”

“Please,” Maegor replies, “I’d rather keep my hair if you don’t mind…it won’t grow back like it used too.”

He’s kissing her again before she can respond. He’s yanking her gown open and touching her body and it brings back memories of when she was younger, when he used to kiss her like this…when they’d sneak off together…

She’d never been so pure and innocent as her Mother believed she was. Even Rhaenyra thought she was this flawless perfect creature but truly…she was just Daeyra, she made mistakes and she was clumsy, she wasn’t as sweet and as prim and proper as everyone wanted her to be. Maegor never made those restrictions on her, he accepted her as she was.

Fucking on the cold stone floor isn’t very appealing.

She grunts at the roughness of their lovemaking, her gown askew and her naked body bare to his gaze. She doesn’t mind how rough he is, she likes it. She’s fairly certain she bit him a couple times already. They aren’t quite about what they’re doing and Daeyra was trying very hard not to imagine Rhaenyra’s indignation at the idea of them and their current behavior. It made her giggle for some reason, right at the worst moments.

“ _Really_?” Maegor is breathing heavily, staring down at her. He thrusts sharply, making her yelp in pain and pleasure, “does my lovemaking amuse you?”

“No… _oh_ yes!” she gasps aloud.

When it’s over, they’re a tangle of limbs; her gown was twisted around her legs. They jump when Visenya appears at the doors and stares down at them in a mixture of disproval and irritation. “Get up, both you, _now_!”

They scramble to their feet; sheepishly like they were children caught doing something naughty. Visenya had the ability to render even Maegor in such a state, and as they pull their clothes on Visenya continues on her reprimand, “Shame on both of you…in the middle of the bloody _sept_! And you, he’s ruined you now, I hope you know that!”

Daeyra rolls her eyes as she ties her gown closed and takes her brother’s proffered arm, following him out of the sept. As she passes her Aunt she looks her in the eye and tells her pointedly, “ _Please_ ,” Daeyra scoffs, “I was _ruined_ as you put it by Maegor when I was sixteen.”

It was a bold faced lie.

It was worth it.

The look on Visenya’s face and the way Maegor suddenly ducked his head as if fearing reprimand was worth more than all the gold in the Targaryen hold. Maegor did not out her however and Daeyra stalked off with her elder brother with a smirk on her lips and a skip in her step.

“You realize you’ll have to marry me now,” Maegor points out as they walk.

“Probably,” Daeyra agrees.

“I’ve been waiting twenty-three years,” Maegor adds.

“I was busy,” Daeyra shrugs lightly.

“Are you too busy to marry me tomorrow morning?” He quirks a brow at her.

Daeyra smirks, kissing his knuckles lightly, “I’ll make time for it.”

“So kind of you,” he smirks back as they walk together towards the keep.

 

* * *

 

**Maegor**

 

They don’t wait for marriage to start their wedding night early. After the funeral she’s lying sweaty and exhausted in his arms, in his bed.

Finally.

After how many wives and how many trials and how many people abandoned him along the way, his sister came home. She wasn’t about to get away from him either. He didn’t care if he had to carry her into the sept tomorrow morning, she was marrying him. If she ran from him he’d run her down. He never knew the taste of rage and despair until he discovered she’d run away. The only other time he’d ever felt such bitter rage was when his Aunt Sansa had slapped his Lady Mother. It took every ounce of self-control he had not to slap her in turn, not to have her thrown in the dungeon and the offending hand cut off. If she’d drawn blood, he probably would have.

Lucky for her, she didn’t hit his Lady Mother all that hard.

Daeyra would have probably found a new reason to stay away from him if he’d done that. His Aunt Sansa never stood by him, she was always against him. No matter how hard he tried or what he did, she never liked him. She never wanted him to marry Daeyra but now he was, and he was going to rub it in her face.  He would go down to the family tomb and tell her himself. He was going to tell her how they fucked in the sept and they fucked before the wedding and how he fucked Daeyra on top of his Lady Aunt’s favorite sewing table…oh and how they fucked back when she was still trying to keep them apart.

Not that they’d actually done that…but if Daeyra can use that lie to terrorize his Mother, he can use it to terrorize hers.

Beside him Daeyra stirs, curling against his side. They weren’t as young as they used to be, but she could still give him children. He still had hope for an heir through her.

Now if he could only put an end to the rebellion against him.

 

* * *

 

 

**Daeyra**

For her coronation, she uses her Aunt Visenya’s crown. She wants the realm to know that she is strong, that she is worthy of the dowager Queen’s crown. Her first order of business after the coronation is to deal with the faith militant. Her brother is apparently shit at dealing with them civilly. The only thing he knows how to do is swing a sword and stab things, or set them on fire…or both. What the militant required was a steady hand and a whole lot of charm.

“I’ll never be able to mend it,” Daeyra despairs aloud over supper one evening; “you’ve made a mess of it.”

“They opposed my reign,” Maegor told her pointedly as he ate, “I won’t tolerate it. Traitors to the crown will be executed.”

“Maegor my love,” Daeyra says patiently as she pours more wine into her goblet before setting the pitcher aside on the table, “If you want peace with the militant you have to stop burning they’re septs and murdering their septons, also you had the high septon murdered.”

“He opposed me,” Maegor says as if it made perfect sense.

Daeyra takes a breath to settle her nerves. He was difficult to deal with sometimes, especially about matters of the realm. “We need to begin making amends with them,” she says softly, “One Queen, one wife, no more and no less. You _must_ take up the faith as our Father did before us.”

“Oh?” Maegor quirks an eyebrow at her, “I do not believe in the seven, I believe in practicality, logic, and good sense. I believe in the ways of our people, of the Valyrians. As for the number of wives I have, that is my decision not yours.”

“ _One_ …Queen…” Daeyra enunciates very slowly, staring him down. He would have no other wife then her; there would be no other Queen. “If you want to sleep in your own bed at night, you’ll heed my words.”

He stares at her, and between them they’d almost forgotten Visenya was sitting at the table with them. It seems to be a stalemate, one that Visenya was keen to end.

“One Queen,” Visenya adds her two cents, pointedly looking at her son, “While I agree with you for the need of an heir, Daeyra is perfectly capable of giving as many as you need. Now that---…” she stops herself before she speaks Tyanna’s name, she knows how dangerous that name is in the keep. Maegor openly stiffens; he seems to know what she was going to say.

Tyanna of the Tower was a forbidden subject of conversation in the Red Keep.

With the rest of his wives dead and Tyanna’s head currently rotting on a spike, Daeyra was his only Queen. She intended things to stay that way as well, if she had anything to say about it. How many innocent women suffered because of Tyanna’s schemes? Maegor wasn’t exactly innocent himself. Daeyra had heard the stories of his blood thirst and his insatiable love of battle. She remembered in their youth that Maegor was relentless in sparring practice.

               With a soft sigh she looks between her Aunt and her brother as they eat. It was just the three of them at the dinner table now when it should be so many more. They have nieces and nephews on Dragonstone, as well as young Prince Daeron who Daeyra’s been anxious to see. Between the three of them, they’ve become the outcasts of the Targaryen family.  She knew that her brother wasn’t entirely sane, but neither was she.

Love made people do crazy things sometimes.

As for Maegor, she knew that her nephew Aegon was the rightful claimant of the throne. He was killed long ago in battle however, and quietly she mourned him. Aegon had deserved so much better, as did Rhaena and her daughters. Maegor had been searching for Rhaena when she’d decided to torch the countryside, and she thinks she might have saved Rhaena from discovery but her sudden irrational act of madness.

She hoped Rhaena stayed hidden too, for the sake of her daughters.

 

* * *

 

In the years to come, Daeyra managed to smooth over the angry highborn lordlings and their banners. It didn’t fix everything but it was a start. As a plus, she was pregnant too. News burned like wildfire across the Kingdom that the Queen was with child. Maegor was careful to keep her out of harm’s way, he had many enemies who would see Daeyra and her unborn child murdered.

Smoothing a hand over the baby bump that was slowly beginning to show, Daeyra smiled to herself. No Tyanna to poison her or the baby this time. She would give Maegor a healthy child, an heir to the throne. She’s held the throne for three years now, and Maegor never took another wife.  Today was not a day of celebration however, Daeyra thinks to herself. Though she was heavy with child and her Husband’s reign was secure, they were alone in the world now.

Visenya had passed away.

They were like orphans alone in the world without her. She was dressed in black and red brocade silk, her Mother’s ruby necklace at her throat. Queen Sansa had been gifted it by her Father when they were first wedded, and now the necklace belonged to her. Maegor had found it for her as a wedding gift. Upon her head she wore her Aunt Visenya’s crown though; she’d always preferred it over her mother’s more delicate one. There is a knock at her door and she at first says nothing but pushes aside the ache in her heart to answer.

“Come,” she says aloud and continues to straighten her skirts and smooth the material over her baby bump. In the mirror she sees Maegor behind her and she turns to look at him with a heavy heart.  He looked so forlorn, fighting so hard to be strong and pretend losing his Mother wasn’t a huge blow for him. Gently Daeyra cups his cheek and kisses him lightly, “We must go or we’ll be late.”

He nods and she takes his arm, letting him guide her outside where the funeral pyre has been prepared. People stared at her as they passed the guests out onto the beach below Dragonstone. How did this happen anyways? How was it that in the end, she and Maegor would be the only ones left? She knew why people stared at them too.

She heard the women laugh at her behind their hands at court, the way they gossiped behind her back. She was not as young as she once was. They were like vultures, waiting for Maegor to cast her aside and take a younger bride. They thought she would lose this child because of her age, but if she had anything to do with it, her child would be born strong and healthy. The vultures would never have him, she wouldn’t let them.

Maegor was hers.

 

* * *

 

That night after the funeral they make love in the darkness of the chambers that once belonged to her Father. It felt odd doing that, and when she giggled Maegor would get particularly perturbed by it. She meant no harm of course, she intended no offense, it was just awkward.  Afterwards he kisses her baby bump and smooths a warm hand over it, whispering odds and ends to their unborn child.

“How will we get on without her Maegor?” Daeyra sighs softly, staring up at the ceiling, “I often asked myself that when Father died too…and then Mother.”

“We will carry on as we always have,” Maegor tells her with a sigh, rolling over onto his back beside her. She looks at him, the moonlight flickering through the windows high above them and racing across his chest and onto the bed sheets beneath them. She remembers the first time she ever saw him without a shirt on. It had been entirely by accident of course. It was her sixteenth name day, and she’d gone racing into his bed chambers without even bothering to knock because she wanted him out of bed. He’d been drinking the night before and apparently off doing other things that young ladies like she’d been knew nothing about.

               He was lying in bed without a stitch on save for the bed sheets and she’d stood rooted to the spot like an idiot, staring. Of course the way she’d come bounding in had woken him and he jerked upright, blinking at her sleepily before yanking the sheets higher to hide himself. Daeyra smiled at the memory, the way her brother stared right back at her and the way the color flushed her whole face before she turned around quickly apologized repeatedly while he scrambled to pull his breeches on. That was the day he’d given her the dagger too. He taught her how to use it, clean it, and take care of it.

“Just the three of us,” Daeyra agrees softly.

“They’ll be more,” Maegor tells her, “We’ll have others….soon the castle will be filled with laughter again.”

“We still have laughter here Maegor,” Daeyra tells him quietly, “Jaehaerys and his brood is here…as well as Daeron…you’ve hardly spoken to Daeron. He needs a guiding hand now desperately what with his parents gone.”

“We are not taking Daeron back with us to the Red Keep Daeyra,” Maegor tells her firmly, “He’s only a toddler. Jaehaerys and Alysanne can look after him.”

“I owe it to Rhaenyra to see him safe Maegor,” Daeyra counters quickly.

“He’d be safer here,” Maegor replies, “there are people at the Red Keep who seek to harm us both and our child. I would think Rhaenyra would prefer to keep her son out of that mess.”

Daeyra relents, irritated with her Husband. Maegor was stubborn at best, and wouldn’t do anything he didn’t want too regardless of what she said. He was that way when he murdered every last man who ever worked on the Red Keep after the construction was completed too.

That was the one time she had ever been afraid of her brother.

He’d given them a proper send off as he’d put it, thanked them for all their hard work and gave them food and drink and enough whores to sate any need they could ever have for three days. It was better than anything they’d have gotten anywhere else he claimed. He was doing them a kindness he claimed, they couldn’t be allowed to live and at least he didn’t kill the outright.

               It still didn’t lessen her anger, though she understood his logic. They knew the secrets and those secrets couldn’t be allowed to leave the Keep. Still, this was something she couldn’t fix. This was a sort of madness that she couldn’t cover up no matter how she tried. It lost them loyalty from higher lords and the minor ones too. It made the people fear them, they called Maegor mad, and they called him cruel.

They already did that though.

“Daeyra,” Maegor’s voice breaks her deep thought and she rolls onto her side to look at him. “What are you thinking about?”

“You,” Daeyra admits openly, “Our child….the kingdom.”

“I promise you,” Maegor tells her softly, “I’ll keep you both safe…whatever the cost.”

“Whatever the cost?” Daeyra asks him with a soft frown, “I don’t know if I like the sound of that.”

“Whatever the cost,” Maegor tells her, “You and our child will be safe…our child will inherit the throne.”

Those words would come back to haunt her one day.

 

* * *

 

It was a day like any other. She held the small council, she sat in the garden and ate sliced peaches dipped in honey, she laughed with the ladies of the court. She kissed her husband late in the afternoon and made love on top of his desk. He kissed her after and promised to meet her for dinner. There was trouble however, and Maegor was delayed. All she knew as she sat alone at the dinner table was that he was busy holding council and would not make it to dinner. This wasn’t unusual, sometimes he was busy and so was she. When she went to bed that night, she had no idea what she would find the next morning…but it would haunt her till the end of her days.

She is woken at dawn by frantic maidservants and the Kingsguard, or at least the ones left who hadn’t abandoned she and Maegor. She is still in her dressing gown as she rushes down to the throne room, shoving past guards and maester’s and anyone who dare stop her. When she sees Maegor dead upon the Iron Throne, she screams. She screams until all the sorrow and rage pours out of her. When it’s over she faints.

When she wakes next it is near evening and she knows she has no time to lose. She dresses in her best gown and jewels, her crown resting atop her head. She has her beloved brother’s body burned in the typical Valyrian fashion and his ashes placed inside the hall of Kings within the Targaryen family tomb.

Then she begins her real work.

For fourteen days, it is said that Queen Daeyra held the Iron Throne as her own, declaring herself Queen Regent of the realm until her child comes of age. For fourteens days she lived up to the title of _unmerciful_ , hunting down every last one of the Kingsguard and any who could have been involved in her husband’s murder. Those who she believed responsible were fed to Balarion. She held it until Prince Jaehaerys came and forced her to yield the throne to him. Jaehaerys had no mind for executing a pregnant woman and gave her the option to yield the throne and he would let she and her unborn child live.   

She yielded it reluctantly and was confined to Dragonstone where she later gave birth to a son, Prince Maekar. Later she wondered after her husband’s murder, she wondered what had really happened and the words of her husband’s promise would always haunt her because of it. Had he taken his own life to protect her and the child? Had he been murdered by the Kingsguard? Daeyra would never have true answers to those questions.

To put aside her grief and her misery Daeyra took up another task as she watched her young son grow. She picked up an old leather tome her Mother had penned, addressed to a woman who Daeyra believed to be her Aunt. She finished it for her Mother, who at the end of her life was too tired to finish it. Then she wrapped it in cloth and addressed it to a woman who hadn’t even been born yet, sealing the book away beneath Dragonstone. This was one thing her Mother would never know about, despite her best efforts to preserve history.

In the years to come, Prince Maekar would wed his cousin Princess Viserra, the daughter of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne while Prince Daeron took up a knighthood under his cousin’s rule and loyally served him all the days Jaehaerys ruled as King. Jaehaerys was happy with this arrangement as he had sought to heal the wounds between his family members, hoping to unite the Targaryen family and make them stronger once again. In the coming years, the Targaryens would continue to hold the throne, but somewhere along the line an oddity occurred among them….some say it was the sign of a true dragon when a Targaryen was born with a touch of fire to their hair.

* * *

 

**Present Day**

 

Arya Stark smiled as she closed the old leather tome carefully balanced on her lap and slid her fingers tenderly over the worn cover. She remembered the day Aegon had brought it to her, the binding old and worn and the pages yellowed by time. It was wrapped in cloth and addressed to her.

 

_To Arya Stark_

It was all that it said, and nobody knew what it was until Arya opened it up and read what was inside. She had to laugh at the first lines of the book, it was so very much like her sister to write such things. She was currently at Dragonstone with her two daughters, her husband was up at the keep talking with Aegon’s son about a trade agreement.

“Mother,” Catelyn, her eldest daughter says as she sits in the sand at her Mother’s feet, “Read it again please.”

“I’ve already read it to you twice Catelyn,” Arya laughs, smiling down at her child. This wasn’t exactly the life she’d have chosen for herself. To be a Mother, a wife, the Lady of Storms End. It was something Sansa would have wanted and when she found out that Sansa had arranged for Daenerys to legalize Gendry, she knew it was just like Sansa to do that.

“Please Mother,” her youngest daughter Marissa asks softly, “Read it again.”

“Oh fine,” Arya smiles as her two daughters shout for joy and drop down in the sand, gathering near their Mother to listen. “Once…” Arya begins as she flips open the old leather bound tome and begins to read, Sansa’s neat handwriting scrawled across the page, “In old Valyria, before the doom there lived five siblings…”

 

_Finis_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: That's it folks, I hope you enjoyed the story. It was such hard work and I have to thank every one of you who has stuck with me until the end. Just so everyone knows, there will be a second series based off of this one which will be called "The Spaces In Between" which is going to be a series of one-shots that go into detail the life Sansa has with Aegon, the lives of her children and everything that happens with them as well. 
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed the story, thank you for reading!


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